


Life's a Long Song

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: AIDS discussion, Academy Awards, Alternative Universe - Playwrights and Actors, BAFTA Awards, Bottom Harry, Clothes Sharing, Discussion of Assisted Suicide, Eggsy Unwin & Roxy Morton Friendship, Eggsy as Actor, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Harry & Merlin Friendship, Harry as Playwright, M/M, May/December Relationship, Mention of Percival/James, Merlin is a good bro, Mr. Pickle is a BAMF, Past Harry/Charlie Hesketh, Past Harry/Victoria Winslow (RED), Pretty Woman Allusions, Roxy Morton Is a Good Bro, alternative universe, elton john references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 01:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17633510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Harry Hart, multiple award-winning playwright and screenwriter and sometime actor, has occasionally had lapses in judgment.  The biggest one of  late had been an ill-considered relationship with the young and not-so-talented actor, Charlie Hesketh.  It's awards season, Harry's nominated for several BAFTAs, and so is Charlie.  Merlin, Harry's best friend since their teenage years, and his agent, is insisting that Harry needs to bring someone prettier, younger, and more talented as his arm candy for all the red carpet events coming on during Awards Season.And he has just the young actor in mind - Eggsy Unwin, recent RADA graduate (with honors), has been getting the rawest of deals from his own agent, Chester King.  Merlin knows that Eggsy will appeal to Harry for many reasons, and offers Eggsy a representation contract if he just goes to meet a client of his - no other strings attached.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



> Dear Deepdarkwaters - I tried to fit in as many as your likes/wants as possible, including a few from your crossover requests. I just couldn't manage the silly spy gadgets, since this isn't canon-adjacent, but I really hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Also, I feel I should apologize for this being so long. This is an idea I've had for Kingsman for as long as I've been in the fandom, and had been afraid to write it because I knew it would be epic. Your request gave me just the right way to scale the story back to something manageable. If I had another month, it might have been twice this long. So sorry, kind of?
> 
> It's not Brit-picked, but I've been to London a number of times and worked with Brits for many years, so I haven't completely relied on Google Maps and Wikipedia for information. If there are any stupid mistakes that throw you out of the story and leave you scratching your head, saying WTF, please let me know so I can correct them.

Harry sighs and puts the phone on speaker, letting his agent, Merlin, natter on. Merlin had ostensibly called to congratulate him on this morning's BAFTA nomination announcements, but his real reason is making him a bit nuts. He puts on the kettle for tea, and then changes his mind. Merlin is working up a full head of steam on his favorite subject of late, which means that instead of a cup of English Breakfast, Harry's going to need a full tumbler of Scotch.

He checks the time and pours himself a double. Harry looks down at Mr. Pickle, third in the line of Cairn terriers he's owned, and whispers, "Well, it is about ten PM in Tokyo, if anyone's asking." Pickle just pants his approval for Harry's plan.

Merlin thankfully doesn't hear that aside. He's still far too focused on Harry's romantic status. _"You can't show up at the BAFTAs without a date, Harry. Not this year."_

"Well, I'm going to have to, since I'm not dating anyone at the moment." Harry thought that would be quite obvious. "And besides, Charlie and I weren't all that public." 

Merlin isn't listening to Harry at all. _"You were public enough to make the couples' page in Hello! and the breakup page in OK! and The Daily Mail. Besides, you're getting an Academy Fellowship Award for your work in the LGBTQ space, you've been nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay, _and_ a Best Supporting Actor Award. Two unrelated competitive nominations are fucking ridiculous for anyone, but with that twunt, Charlie in competition against you for the Supporting Actor award, you'll be the story of the night, whether you want to be or not."_

Harry puts the phone on mute and goes to bang his head against the wall. Merlin's right. Impossible as it may be, his ex, Charlie (please, you must call me Charles, now) Hesketh, is up for the same acting Best Supporting Actor award, even though he's a barely mediocre actor. Harry chalks it up to having good material, namely the screenplay Harry had written and then made changes on during the filming, expanding a the lines for a previously minor character, all because Charlie was supposed to be the love of Harry's life. 

Harry's made some poor decisions in his life; most of them had been crimes against fashion, like dyeing his hair bright blue and purple before the night before his first Olivier awards ceremony in 1987 (he'd won for Best New Play), or wearing an Elton John-esque peacock and marabou feather cape to the Academy Awards in 1991 (he'd won again, for Best Adapted Screenplay) and the rhinestone-studded denim suit and massive sideburns in 1995 at The Golden Globes (he'd lost, for Best Original Screenplay). But perhaps the poorest life choice he'd ever made had been taking up with Charlie Hesketh.

Time and distance have certainly improved his vision. He can see now, so clearly, that Charlie had been using him – like a wad of toilet paper – to advance his career. And Harry had been a fool, an easy mark. He'd recently turned fifty, his last play had been savaged by the critics and abandoned by the audience. He'd been lonely and filled with self-pity, and when a rather handsome young man with a small bit of talent had flattered him, Harry had fallen like the proverbial tonne of bricks. 

Merlin is still budgering at him; his annoyance at Harry's lack of response is bringing the Scotsman out. _"Ye show up without a piece of arm candy, Charlie's going ta make a laughingstock out of ye. He'll tell every tart with a microphone and a camera that ye're pining after his pretty ass. That ye're unwilling to accept that he's moved on, to better, prettier and most important, younger things."_

Harry takes the phone off mute. "So what do you suggest I do?"

_"Get yerself someone younger and prettier than that cocksucker to hang off your arm and look at ye like the sun rises out of yer ass for the awards season."_

"I've already told you, I'm not seeing anyone right now. Been a little busy for much of a social life." That's the truth. While Harry might regret taking up with a user like Charlie Hesketh, their breakup had done wonders for his creativity. In the year and a half since Charlie had walked out on him (the boy hadn't even had the grace to wait a week before showing up at a red carpet event with his female co-star in the movie Harry had written, declaring that he'd found the love of his life), Harry had written two one-act plays, acted in front of the camera for the first time in nearly fifteen years, and adapted one of his own stage works for a major Hollywood production. 

_"Do ye trust me, Harry?"_

"You know I do." For twenty-five years, Merlin MacLeish had been watching over Harry's career; his advice is nearly always sound.

_"Then let me fix this for ye."_

Harry has a suspicion where this is heading. "You're going to play fairy godmother and find me a date for the ball?"

_"That's not really how the Cinderella story goes, but aye, I'm going to fix ye up. "_

"Not with one of those pretty twinks that you and Alastair and James like to tie up and spank."

Merlin chuckles. _"If this wasn't so important, I just might."_

"No, you wouldn't." Harry wouldn't know what to do with a pretty boy who liked to be spanked. 

_"No, I wouldn't. Not the least because those pretty twinks wouldn't know what to do with ye."_

"All right. Do your magic, Merlin. You've got a little more than a month to find a date for me for the red carpet. Just make sure whoever you pick has a brain between their ears and a strong stomach for being in the public eye."

Now that Harry's agreed to Merlin's plan, Merlin's calmed down, and the Scots accent disappears, replaced by the smooth tones of well-practiced RP. _"Of course. I'm doing this because I don't want you to be embarrassed, even though you seem to have no concept of the term. You're well past the age when showing up on the red carpet dressed like something out of an MTV video is good publicity."_

"Those days are long over, Merlin. I've learned to appreciate the power of a good suit." That's the truth, somewhere in the mid-nineties, Harry had abandoned the flamboyant gay-boy persona he'd cultivated, and started dressing like his father, but with better tailoring.

_"It's a month before the awards ceremony. Since you don't want to actually look like you've hired a professional escort as your arm candy, you'll need to get to know who ye're going with. Get your stories consolidated. Maybe go out a few times, do what couples do."_

Harry can think of a few things couples "do" but he doesn't believe that any of them would be on Merlin's list of recommended activities. "I don't think that can be helped if you're going to find me a date via an agency, no matter how reputable."

_"That's only the last resort. I've got someone in mind for you. I haven't approached him with the request, but if he agrees, I think he'll be perfect for you."_

Harry's curious, this is something that Merlin's had up his sleeve for a while. "Can you tell me about him?"

_"Not yet. And actually, I'd rather let you form your own first impression. Consider this a blind date."_

"I haven't been on one of those since you'd tried to set me up with your sister's best friend when we were in our first year at Balliol."

_"In theory, it should have worked. You and Jeremy had a lot in common."_

"Too much in common, if I recall correctly." The young man in question had been as much of a nelly-bottom as Harry, and at nineteen, neither of them were looking for more out of a relationship than easy and convenient sex.

_"Like I say, Harry, you've got to trust me to do right for you. You're my favorite client."_

"Favorite may be pushing it."

_"How about my most important?"_

"That will do quite nicely. After so many years, it's nice knowing that I'm more than just a percentage point on your bottom line."

_"I'm not saying **that** , Harry."_

"Go to Hell, Merlin." Harry laughs and ends the call.

Harry sits on the couch and Mr. Pickle, always affectionate and always sensitive to Harry's moods, jumps up and joins him. Harry spends a few minutes lavishing affection on the dog and wondering aloud about the man Merlin is setting him up with, talking to the dog as if it was human. "I have to tell you, Pickle, this whole plan makes me a little queasy. You've met Merlin; he's a big time player in the entertainment industry and the people he knows are other entertainment professionals – actors, writers, directors. I'm pretty certain that whoever he sets me up with is going to be someone he wants to have his hooks into – probably an out of work actor. He'll certainly be young and good-looking, someone who's just starting out." _Much like Charlie had been._

Pickle looks at Harry with dark, grave eyes. Then he pants, licks Harry's chin, and jumps off his lap.

Harry keeps obsessing over Merlin's suggestion. He knows he'll end up accepting whoever Merlin sends over, but he'll be wise about it. This won't be like the situation with Charlie. At the time, Harry hadn't seen that Charlie had been using him, stroking Harry's ego, slyly worming his way into Harry's affections – and Harry's bed – as a way to get more lines, more visibility in a major Hollywood production. Whoever Merlin sends over may have the same motives, but Harry will have no illusions.

The young man, whoever he is, will be well-compensated for his time, but that's it. Harry's not going to be used like that again. Ever.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How did it go?"

Eggsy tosses his jacket over the back of the couch and gives Roxy a disgusted look. 

She reads him almost too easily. "Not well, then."

"Nope. They wouldn't even let me read, said I'm not what they want." Eggsy isn't going to tell his best friend just how brutal the casting director had been; there's no point in getting her angry about something she can't do anything about. Instead of giving her the old song and dance and hoping she'll buy it, Eggsy confesses to the truth. "I'm getting really tired of this, Rox. Chester sends me out on casting calls, tells me I'm just what the director's looking for, I'm perfect for the lead, but I'm never what the director's looking for and I'm lucky if they even let me read for some two-line unnamed role that shows up for ten seconds in the second act."

Roxy gives him a shrewd look. "Do you think that King's deliberately tanking you?"

Eggsy grimaces. "You know, it feels like that. King has never liked me; if he could have vetoed my audition, he would have. He didn't want me in the programme at all. I couldn't understand why he'd been the one to give me the post-graduation representation contract, but now that you say it, it seems kind of obvious. It's his way of ensuring that my career will never get off the ground. And all he can say is that I just didn't click with the powers that be, not that he's sending me on auditions for roles that I'll never get because he's badmouthed me to the directors and casting agents."

Defeated, he flops on the couch next to Roxy. "But on the bright side, I can always have a career as a sugar baby." He pulls out his phone and shows his best friend a text with a selfie of some City banker leering into the camera. "Looks like a right arsehole, but he's willing to pay me five hundred quid – which would be my share of the rent for the month – if I go with him to some posh do next week and hang off his arm."

"Eggs, you don't have to worry about the rent. I've told you that. My uncles own this flat, and they only charge _me_ rent because I don't want to seem like I'm sponging off of them."

"So, I'm sponging off of you. Same thing."

"No, it's not. The difference is that I can afford to pay rent, even the market rate here in Kensington. Trust fund baby, remember?" Roxy takes a very unladylike swig of beer from the bottle she's been nursing. "You, on the other hand, have no real source of income, _yet_. But when you do, you can pay your share of the rent without resorting to prostitution."

"Oi! Sugar-babying ain't prostituting. I'm not going to sleep with that fucker, Rox. Just being sweet to him and making him look good for his bosses."

Roxy rolls her eyes at Eggsy. "You really think some middle-aged City banker is going to show up at a company function with a twenty-something _man_ on his arm and introduce him as his 'date'? Middle-aged City bankers don't come out of the closet like that, Eggs. He'll ask you to meet him in his hotel room, put the moves on you, offer you a twenty for a blow job and you'll either slap the guy and stalk out, or give his tiny little pricklet a hummer for a few quid and feel like crap for a week afterwards."

"Jeez, Rox, pull your punches, why don't you?" There had been a time that Eggsy desperately wants to forget, when he'd paraded along Smith Street with other boys, hoping to attract the right kind of attention. The kind that would pay the rent and the heating bill and maybe a few quid left over for some food on the table. 

"Sorry, but it's the truth. You're not the sugar-baby type."

"You mean I'm too old and not pretty enough."

Roxy gives him a considering look. "Stop fishing for compliments, you're better than pretty. You're too damn smart, Eggs, and you look it. These men want vapid twinks who'll bat their eyes and keep their mouths shut unless they're sucking cock. You have opinions, you have a brain. And you like to use it."

Eggsy rolls his head on the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. "I'm stuck in a rut, Roxy. I'm a RADA graduate who can't get a job. Unless it's at Maccy D's or Nandos. I want to act, but no one wants to even give me a shot." 

"Maybe I might have a lead on something."

Eggsy sits up and looks at Roxy. "Seriously?"

She shrugs. "It's something my uncles' partner needs some help with. I saw him the other day and might have mentioned that you were getting screwed over by Chester. He said he'd be interested in picking you up when your contract with King ends. He thinks he's got a role for you."

"You mean Merlin MacLeish? The scary as fuck Scottish dude who's the top talent manager in London? He might need my help?"

"Well, I think James and Alastair might be the top talent managers in London, Merlin comes in a close third."

"No disrespect to Alastair and James, but they manage musicians and songwriters. Merlin manages theatrical talent."

"Point taken."

"So, what does the great Merlin want me for?" Eggsy hopes he doesn't sound too needy.

"I don't know. He's going to be here in about – " Roxy checks the time on her phone, "a half an hour."

"Shit." Eggsy doesn't need to sniff his pits to know he's less than daisy-fresh. "I'm going to go take a shower. Can you entertain him if I'm not out before he gets here?"

"Of course." Roxy makes a little shooing gesture. "I've take out a fresh shirt and trousers for you, they're hanging on your closet door. And you don't have to tell me, I already know that I'm the best."

Eggsy presses a kiss on top of Roxy's head. "You are." He practically runs to the bathroom and washes off the stink of a day filled with failure. 

He'd met Merlin MacLeish once, he'd been a guest speaker at a RADA seminar, giving a talk about the importance of proper representation and how to ensure that newly minted performing professionals don't get ripped off by unscrupulous agents and managers. Eggsy had tried to put those lessons to good use when he'd accepted Chester King's offer of representation, thoroughly reading the contract and comparing it to the samples that Merlin had handed out. Eggsy even had the balls to demand some edits and had been shocked when King agreed to them. Now, finally understanding that King had no intention of furthering Eggsy's acting career, he can see why the man had acquiesced to Eggsy's minor requests.

After the seminar, Roxy had introduced Eggsy to Merlin, and Eggsy had all but swallowed his own tongue in nervousness. Unlike Roxy's very sweet, very kind, and very rich uncles, James Spenser and Alastair Morton, Merlin MacLeish is the definition of intimidating – even when he's smiling. 

As he's getting dressed, Eggsy hears the doorbell, and then Roxy talking with someone, their voices are indistinct through the walls. He rushing, and consequently, he can't button his shirt right. He's got to start over three times before he gets everything all lined up and tucked in. Roxy had also dug deep into his closet and took out Eggsy's second-best pair of shoes; loafers that he rarely wears because he thinks that make him look like a twat. He supposes that for a meeting like this, he shouldn't be wearing his favorite Adidas trainers – the ones with wings. 

He shoves his feet into them, checks his appearance one last time, and heads out of his bedroom for what might be the most important meeting of his career.

Merlin's in the living room, ensconced in one of the leather wing back chairs that Eggsy finds too intimidating to sit in. He's got a cup of tea in one hand, his legs are crossed, and he looks far too intimidating – like some human-sized raptor has taken a perch in a third-floor Kensington flat.

"Mr. Unwin, I'm delighted that you're willing to meet with me." Merlin puts down the teacup – on the matching saucer, for crissakes – and stands. He holds out his hand to Eggsy.

Eggsy wants to wipe his palm against his shirt to make sure he's not giving Merlin a wet hand, but he doesn't. He's not that much of a fool. "I'm delighted to meet with you, too, sir."

"No need for the 'sir', Mr. Unwin."

"Call me Eggsy."

"Eggsy it is." Merlin nods in approval. "Would you take a seat?"

Eggsy has no choice but to sit in the other wing back chair and he feels swallowed up by it. 

Merlin sits back down and gives Eggsy a look that's hard to read. It's not like he's judging Eggsy, more like he's measuring him up for a role. But not even that. There's an element of approval in Merlin's expression, and Eggsy has no clue as to what he's done to earn that. 

"So, I suppose you're curious as to why I've asked Roxy to set up this meeting."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah. Curious isn't the word. You're the top agent in London; you represent only the very best. Which I'm not." The admission is sour in his mouth. He's not the best because he's never had the chance and he probably never will.

"But you could be, with the right representation."

"You reading my mind, bruv?" Eggsy can't help it, when he's stressed, he sounds like he just got off a train from the South Hampstead Tube station.

"Roxy had mentioned that you're under representation by King & Co., that Chester King's been personally handling you since you graduated from RADA with High Honors."

"Yeah, he has." Eggsy still doesn't know what Merlin wants and he's not going to badmouth Chester King, even though the bastard deserves it.

"Standard package? Eighteen months of exclusive representation that's offered to all RADA honors graduates?"

"Yeah. But …" Eggsy shakes his head. He's not going to say anything about all of the mis-castings, the failed reading, the walk-on roles that he's not suited for.

But he doesn't have to, Merlin apparently knows everything. "I've heard through the grapevine that King's been sending you out for roles that no RADA graduate shouldn't be wasting their time on. That you've been sent away from major auditions without getting a chance to read for the part you'd prepared for. That there are rumors circulating that you're an entitled prima donna who thinks his shit doesn't stink."

Eggsy swallows hard, to keep from utterly embarrassing himself with tears. "Nice to know my worst fears have been confirmed. King's tanking me. I'll never work in London, or any place where he's got ears that listen to him."

"Do a small favor for me, and I can change all of that."

Eggsy fears he's looking at Merlin like the man's the second coming of Christ. "Short of murder, I'll do anything you want."

"Oh, I don't think I'll need you to commit murder." Merlin smiles and Eggsy thinks he should be terrified, but he isn't. "Just meet a client of mine – he needs a date for a few red carpet events."

"A date?" Eggsy hopes that Merlin's isn't asking him to sleep with his client.

"Yes, just a date. Hang onto the man's arm when the cameras go off, look at him like he's the best thing that's ever happened to you. Think of it as an acting job."

That's something Eggsy can do that. After all, he'd been prepared to sugar-baby for a rather repulsive City banker. "And what if your client doesn't like me?"

"Well, you'd meet each other first, spend some time together. Get to know each other. Rehearse your roles."

"Is your client another actor?"

"He does act, so yes."

Eggsy can tell that Merlin's prevaricating a bit. The guy's not a full-time actor, which begs the question, what does he do to merit this kind of attention from Merlin MacLeish.

"If I agree to this 'small favor', what happens?"

"It's been almost a year and a half since your graduation, so your contract with King is just about over. Just a matter of days, actually."

"You know that, how?"

Merlin shrugs, ever so elegantly. "I may have a few friendly connections in King's office. People who think that Chester should be spanked for what he's doing to you and other RADA grads who don't fit into the mold."

"In other words, if you're not lily-white, straight and wealthy, you don't deserve a career."

"Pretty much. But do this for me and I'll give you six month's agency representation, and I'll waive all of my agency's fees. That's just for agreeing to meet my client. If things work out between the two of you, you'll be paid generously for your time."

It sounds terrific, but Eggsy feels that if he doesn't try to bargain, Merlin will think he's a pushover. "A full year, not just six months. And I want a signed agency representation contract in my hands before I meet anyone."

Merlin chuckles as he reaches into his breast pocket. "I was hoping you'd be this smart." He takes out a pen, too, and makes a change on the first page. "Here, read this. I've got a few calls to make."

Eggsy takes the contract and retreats to his bedroom to read without any distractions. The contract is a standard form that's similar to the one that he has with King, but Eggsy still reads every single word. 

Merlin had changed the date on the first page, extending the term to a full year, and there's an addendum in the back that waives all of the agency fees, even the percentage of Eggsy's income if he gets a role. It seems that Merlin – and Merlin's client – really wants Eggsy for this "job" and Eggsy feels emboldened. He goes back out to the living room with a plan.

"Everything to your satisfaction, Eggsy?"

Eggsy doesn't give the contract back. "It is, except I want new head shots. Mine are about two years old, and I honestly can't afford new ones."

Merlin frowns. "That's something King should have fronted the expense for."

"But since he never intended for me to get any work, he'd never get the money back – so he didn't want to carry the expense." Eggsy takes a deep breath and stands his ground. "If you want me to do this, I want new head shots. And you're not going to charge the expense back to me at the end of the contract."

Merlin holds out his hand for the document. "I'll add that."

Eggsy gives him the contract and watches as Merlin pens in the additional terms and then flips to the last page to sign the agreement. He hands the contract and the pen to Eggsy and Eggsy signs where he's supposed to.

Merlin takes pictures of the signature page and asks Eggsy to bring the full contract with him when he comes into the office next week, so Merlin's support staff doesn't have kittens.

"I'm coming into the office?"

"Of course you are – we'll have to do a complete client intake on you. Get everything set up. You're under my wing now and we want you to become the star you should be."

Eggsy has to ask, "How do you know I'm any good?"

"You're a RADA graduate, with honors. And I may have seen all of your performance tapes. Especially your senior project. Very well done, lad. Very well done."

That Merlin's seen his work doesn't surprise him, not with the hooks he has into the industry. That he's seen Eggsy's senior project and clearly approves of it makes Eggsy feel like he could fly.

But Merlin brings him back down to earth. "Eleven Stanhope Mews South, just off of Gloucester Road, it's in Kensington, in SW7."

"What?"

"That's where you're going – the 'interview' that's going to earn you a year's agency representation from me and my firm."

"Ah, right." Eggsy's not familiar with Stanhope Mews, but if it shares the same Kensington postal code as Roxy's apartment, it's not that far away.

"And you're going to go now. You're expected within the next half-hour."

Eggsy blinks, not sure if he heard right. "Seriously? Today? Right now?"

"Yes, Eggsy. Right now."

Suddenly nervous, he asks Merlin, "Am I dressed all right? Should I put on a suit?" Eggsy doesn't want to; his one and only suit is a badly fitted Marks & Sparks special his mum got him for graduation.

Merlin reassures him, "You're fine. This is just a first meeting, to see if your personalities are compatible, not a wardrobe check."

"So, it's really just a chemistry read." Eggsy can do this.

"Good way to look at it."

"I need to leave now?" He goes for his jacket, which is still draped over the couch and pretends he doesn't notice how Merlin winces at the garish pattern of gold plaques on cheap nylon.

"That would be a good idea. Like I said, my client's waiting for you."

"Your client, does he have a name?" Eggsy would like that very important bit of information.

"Harry."

"Harry what?"

"For the moment, just Harry."

"Is it because I haven't signed a non-disclosure or some shit like that?"

"I don't need an NDA. You have a contract with me; it's exclusive for a year. You fuck me over and go to the press after you meet my client, I will make sure that you won't even get a job as an extra on an infomercial in South Korea. You'll spend the rest of your life mopping out the men's bog in the lowest level of the Westminster Tube station."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

Harry can't quite believe he's really doing this, meeting some young punk that Merlin knows. Meeting him in his own house, for the purpose of determining whether or not said young punk would be suitable dating material.

He needs a drink. Possibly several. And maybe a couple of lines of coke.

And a joint.

Harry has plenty of Scotch in the house, but he'd given up cocaine sometime in the nineties, right around the time he'd discovered that he liked wearing good suits. He still occasionally indulges in weed (his therapist has recommended small doses to deal with the occasional problems of stress and anxiety), but Harry's as much a snob about his marijuana as he is about his ties, and his dealer has been out of the primo stuff for ages. 

And in all honestly, greeting this potential piece of arm candy while drunk or stoned (or drunk _and_ stoned) is not a good idea. Besides the obvious risks, Merlin would have his head.

Harry sighs and reconciles himself to a fully sober encounter. Mr. Pickle picks up his mood and lets out a small yip, a signal that Harry should pick him up and give him some snuggles.

Harry bends down and Pickle leaps into his arms. He wonders (and not for the first time), why he's so obedient to his dog's demands, why he's so obedient to everyone's demands. Perhaps it's because it seems just so much easier to give in than to fight.

Pickle licks under Harry's chin and Harry sighs. At least with his dog, the rewards for his unquestioning obedience are immediate and unconditional affection. Harry snuggles the beast, gets another lick – this time on his cheek – and puts Pickle back down. His guest will be here too soon and Harry is fastidious enough not to greet company, no matter how unwanted, coated in dog slobber.

For good measure, Harry changes his shirt and puts on a favorite cardigan. He knows it makes him look a little too much like someone's dad, rather than a once-upon-a-time rock star writer. It's really a bit of a fuck off to Merlin, who'd have suggested a fancy patterned waistcoat instead. Before Harry can change his mind and acquiesce to Merlin's imaginary suggestion, the doorbell rings. That would be his unwanted guest. 

Harry takes his time answering the door, even though Mr. Pickle is dancing around his feet in excitement. The terrier is much more social and sociable than Harry, and greets everyone who comes to the door as an opportunity for treats and playtime (that is, everyone except Charlie. Pickle had the good taste to dislike Charlie on sight and never let an opportunity pass to make his displeasure known; Harry should have paid more attention to his dog's opinion).

Harry opens the door, looks at the young man on standing there, and blinks. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined when he'd agreed to Merlin's plan, getting set up in a fake relationship with an angel made flesh hadn't been on the list. He stares at the beautiful young man standing there in the world's most hideous jacket and hopes like hell he isn't drooling.

"Hello?"

Harry blinks again. He seems to have lost his ability to speak.

"I'm looking for Harry. Are you him?" The young angel – man – holds out his hand. 

Harry swallows and says, "Yes, yes I am." He takes that warm, perfect hand in his own.

"Good, then I'm in the right place. I'm Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin. I think you're expecting me? Merlin MacLeish sent me here."

Harry reluctantly releases Eggsy's hand. _Eggsy, why does that name seem familiar?_ "Merlin did tell me that he was sending someone over, but he hadn't – " _What? Said you were so fucking gorgeous? That you look like you should have wings instead of wearing that horrifically ugly jacket?_ Harry lets the thought hang.

"Hadn't what?"

It seems that Harry is going to have to fill in the blank. "Hadn't said you'd be here quite so quickly." As prevarications go, it isn't a bad one.

"Then he's playing head games with one of us, because he told me that you were expecting me within the half-hour." Eggsy shrugs. "No matter, I'm here."

"Yes, you are, and I'm being extremely rude to keep you standing on my doorstep." Harry gestures for Eggsy to come in.

Mr. Pickle has been remarkably well-behaved, sitting quietly at Harry's heels, but as soon as Eggsy steps across the threshold, the little beast burst into a series of delighted yips and barks, dancing on his hind legs like a circus performer.

Eggsy's eyes light up as he watches Pickle's antics. "Oh, aren't you a sweetheart." Eggsy completely disregards Harry as he goes down on one knee to play with the dog. Pickle, traitor that he is, springs into Eggsy's arms and starts bathing the young man's face with dog kisses. Eggsy giggles and accepts the tokens of canine affection with good grace, which only serves to egg Pickle on. The terrier does his best to climb onto Eggsy and he's a bit too boisterous; his claws catch on that hideous jacket and as he tries to pull free, the sound of ripping fabric is clearly audible.

Harry holds his breath, waiting for Eggsy to explode in anger at the tiny dog. Instead, Eggsy just pokes a finger in the hole in the fabric and sighs. "Well, it lasted longer than I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a knock-off, got it at a second-hand shop years ago. Roxy – my flat mate – she's been trying to get me to bin it for ages. Says it's the ugliest thing in creation." Eggsy chuckles. "She might be right."

"Then why wear it?"

Eggsy offers a variety of reasons as he continues to play with Harry's dog. "Makes me stand out. I don't look like everyone else when I'm wearing it. My mates from the old neighborhood thought it was cool."

"Well, as someone who desperately did not want to blend in when I was your age, I can understand that." Harry remembers some of his more outré outfits from the mid-eighties; quite a few of them were even uglier than Eggsy's ruined jacket.

Eggsy takes off the jacket. "I'd ask you to bin it, but I'll need to wear it home."

"I could replace it for you." Harry takes a closer look at the pattern on the fabric and sees "Jeremy Scott" on the gold plaques. It shouldn't take too much effort to find another.

Eggsy's finishes lavishing attention on Harry's dog and gets up. " Thanks, but nah. Time I moved on and dressed like an adult, since I want to be treated like one." 

Harry understands that sentiment. "You're awfully young to have learned that lesson. I was well into my thirties before I realized there were better ways of standing out in a crowd."

"You mean you didn't always wear white button-downs and beige cardigans?" Eggsy smiles, removing any sting from his words.

"Would you believe that I once preferred velvet and feathers and sequins, the brighter the better?"

Eggsy's eyes go wide in disbelief. "No way, bruv. I can see you rocking a sharkskin suit, but the whole Elton John look? Not possible."

"You like Elton John?"

"My favorite singer. Someday, I'm going to see him in concert," Eggsy says wistfully. 

Harry doesn't say anything. It would be the worst kind of bragging to tell Eggsy that he's seen Elton John in concert more times than he can remember, or that he's been to the singer's estate in Old Windsor for the White Tie and Tiara Ball, Elton's AIDS Foundation gala, at least a dozen times, maybe more. The truth is that Harry has been friends - of sorts - with Elton John since the early nineties, when Elton finally admitted he was gay. To mark the occasion, Harry had sent him an enormous bouquet of flowers and a card filled with snark.

It wouldn't mean anything for Harry to make a call and get Eggsy a couple of backstage passes for Elton's next concert in London.

Eggsy sheds the offensive jacket and as he takes it off, the small rent becomes an enormous rip from shoulder to waistband. With a small, sad sigh, he lets Pickle take possession. The dog drags it over to his bed and makes a nest for himself on the ruined nylon. "Well, maybe I won't be wearing it home."

Harry is definitely going to have to replace the jacket, but with something a little less garish. He doesn't say anything else on the subject, instead asking, "Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea or something? I'm being a terrible host."

"Tea sounds good." Eggsy looks around and Harry winces to himself. He knows he has the taste of an Edwardian spinster; his decorating style is the epitome of fussy and cluttered. Charlie had been after him to bin everything because it had creeped him out.

Harry shakes his head, he shouldn't be thinking of that asshole, especially not now. 

"Everything all right?"

"Just a stray and unpleasant thought." He heads towards the living room. "Let me get you that tea."

In retrospect, leaving Eggsy – who likely is some kind of young theatre professional – in a room filled with thirty years' worth of awards, is a bad idea. But there's nothing he can do about it now, so he makes the tea and carries the full service into the living room.

Of course, Eggsy's staring at the case filled with BAFTAs and Oliviers and Oscars and Tonys, his mouth open and his eyes shining.

"You're Harry Hart."

Harry puts the tray down and sighs. "Yes, I am."

"You're Harry _fucking_ Hart, the greatest living playwright in Britain."

Harry can't help the flush that blooms on his cheeks at the artless praise. "My middle name is actually Reginald."

Eggsy laughs with delight. "You wrote the play that made me want to become an actor."

_And here we go…_ Harry's heard variations on this from more young actors than he can count, how they'd give their left nut to star in the latest Harry Hart play on the West End. But Harry's not going to be an asshole preemptively, so he asks, "Which one?"

" _Young Queers with Old Faces_. Your first major play." Eggsy bites his lip and there's a flush rising on his cheeks. Harry's reminded of one of the Caravaggios in the National Gallery. 

"That's an unusual choice. Why?" Despite himself, Harry's curious.

"I know it's going to sound like the rankest flattery, but it's your best work. Better than _Salamander_ , even. At least how it speaks to me."

Harry can't disagree with that, he feels the same way, but it's still an unusual choice for someone who hadn't been born when Harry had written it. "Call it authorial curiosity, but why does a thirty year old play about the early days of the AIDS crisis mean so much to you?"

Eggsy pours himself a cup of tea and drops two sugars into it, clearly gathering his thoughts. "I didn't have the best childhood. My da was a soldier; he got himself killed in Iraq when I was seven, right before Christmas. My mum never recovered and she just started taking up with random guys. Thought she'd hit the jackpot when one of 'em wanted to marry her. Turns out he was the worst of the lot. Was real free with his fists, hated that my mum had someone before him – or at least that she'd had kid with another man. He made my life all sorts of hell – him and his bully boys liked to use me as a punching bag, so I stayed away from home as much as possible. Would have been a million time worse if they found out I was gay. Needed a place to go when I couldn't stay outside so I'd hang out in the public library a lot. 

"Thing is, those morons used to go looking for me in there, too, but the librarians were aces and let me hide in the stacks. And one afternoon, I'm hiding in the very back of the stacks and I see this little book, it's shelved backwards and that's no good. So I pull it out to fix it and I see the title and I'm hooked. I think I sat on the floor and read it until the lights went off. Then I went back and read it again the next day. And the day after that. Then I found a copy of _The Normal Heart_ and then I read _Angels in America_ , and read some older plays, like _Boys in the Band_ , but I kept going back to _Young Queers_. It felt a lot more personal – not some screed against sex or some weird fantasy or filled with gay self-loathing. I love _Young Queers_ because it seemed to be about real people, not archetypes, even though it's built around Arthurian mythology. Sitting on the library floor, reading it to myself, thinking about Galahad and Arthur and how they'd lived, how Arthur died. How Galahad was going to die, too. It'd made me feel things – like how being queer wasn't being wrong or twisted. It was just – " Eggsy shrugs at the end of this extraordinary speech, "what I was, too. What I am."

Suddenly, Harry remembers where he's heard Eggsy's name before. "You graduated from RADA recently, no?"

Eggsy nods slowly. "Yeah, it'll be two years in May. How did you know that?"

"Your senior production was the final scene between Arthur and Galahad, and you played Galahad."

"Don't tell me that you were there, that you saw it?"

"I make it a point to see every production of _Young Queers with Old Faces_ that's staged at RADA. Sadly, yours was the first one at the school in about half a decade."

Eggsy looks at him, gape-mouthed in awed astonishment. "You were there. You saw me stage _your_ work for my senior production. Harry Hart saw me play Galahad. No fucking way."

Harry is charmed. "Yes fucking way. I remember being very impressed." That's the truth, he had been. Eggsy's performance as Galahad, the Young Queer, had been one of the best he'd ever seen, and it had given him ideas about launching a new West End production, maybe even completing the long-abandoned sequel. Unfortunately, he'd been by Charlie and his own libido, and the idea had been forgotten.

"I can't believe it. I really, really can't believe it. This is the best day of my whole life. Not only did I meet my idol, I found out that he's seen me perform and thinks I'm not so bad an actor."

"You're more than 'not so bad', Eggsy.  You're pretty damn spectacular." It's strange, but Harry can remember being as young as Eggsy is now. Being so utterly unspoiled and unjaded that the least compliment by someone he respects is enough to give him all the confidence in the world.

Eggsy buries is face in his hands. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry about?"

"I'm kind of crying, here. It's been a shitty couple of months. Had an audition this morning and the casting director wouldn't even let me read for it. Told me that all the fancy degrees in the world wouldn't disguise the fact that I've got no marketable talent and a bad attitude." Eggsy sniffs and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "Then Merlin MacLeish shows up and says that Chester King's been deliberately tanking me, but that he'll give me proper representation for a year if I'll meet a dude who needs a date for a few parties. Seems like a no-brainer. Then I come here and find out that I'm on an audition to be fake-dating my idol, who has seen me act and thinks I'm pretty damn spectacular."

Eggsy looks at Harry through tear-spiked eyelashes, his eyes lambent and his cheeks flushed. Harry's gone. Completely and utterly done. All that resolve about keeping his distance and using whoever Merlin sends over for his own ends is lost, like so much dust in the wind. 

There is a small part of Harry that thinks that this just might be the best acting since Bette Davis in _Dark Victory_ , but when Pickle comes into the living room, dragging Eggsy's ugly jacket. He sees Eggsy crying, runs to Eggsy and jumps on him to give his own brand of succor. When Eggsy hugs the little dog, Harry can't maintain even that level of cynicism.

He moves from the chair to the couch next to Eggsy, murmuring, "Oh, my dear boy." Pickle, of course, has taken up a prime location, front paws on Eggsy's chest, little head tucked under Eggsy's chin.

Eggsy sniffs again and looks down at the dog, and over at Harry; his face is still damp and flushed, but there's a sad smile on his lips. "I'm a bit too fucking ridiculous, ain't I?"

Harry reaches out and carefully smooths the lock of hair that's dropped onto Eggsy's forehead. "Not at all. It sounds like you've had a very disjointed day. And I'm sorry to hear about how Chester has been treating you. He's always been one of my least favorite people in this world."

"Really?"

"Yes, well, he is a rather homophobic cunt." Harry keeps his tone deliberately blasé.

And it works, Eggsy blinks as if he's doubting what he's heard, then he laughs. "You're too fucking right. Don't know if you stayed when I had to defend my performance in the Q&A, but Chester had been one of the industry professionals who got to give their critique. Couldn't understand why I'd picked _Young Queers_ , told me that even when it had been new, it had been overly melodramatic and unrealistic, that it's especially dated now and that no one's interested in a play about dying fags anymore, and that as a young actor, I need to think about what's marketable for my level of talent, like the sidekick roles in a Disney production. Or maybe a variety act in a cabaret in Blackpool, since I can sing, too."

"A cabaret in Blackpool? What year does Chester think it is, Eighteen Ninety-Eight?"

"Yeah, and he had the gall to call _Young Queers_ dated, when he's living in the eighteen-hundreds. Or maybe he's really just that much of a homophobic cunt."

Harry now infinitely regrets leaving the theatre as soon as Eggsy had taken his bow and not staying to hear the Q&A. Midway through the performance, Charlie had texted him, saying that he was horny and needed to fuck Harry right away. Of course, by time Harry had gotten over to Charlie's apartment, Charlie had lost interest in Harry's flabby, fifty year old ass and shot his wad over some Internet porn.

Eggsy sighs and in response, Pickle relaxes on Eggsy's lap, rolling onto his back and holding his paws up in a parody of prayer. Eggsy doesn't even comment, he just rubs Pickle's belly until the little dog squirms in happiness. Harry not so idly wonders what Eggsy would say or do if Harry rolled over and presented _his_ belly.

Instead, he focuses on the obvious. "But it's fixed now. You've done what Merlin's asked, and he'll honor his word, and then some. This time next year, after a successful West End run in some major production, you'll be premiering on Broadway, mark my words."

"So, you don't want to fake date me?" Eggsy actually sounds disappointed.

"I think it's more a question of whether you'd want to fake date _me_. I'm twice your age, my dear. And my motives are far from pure."

"Yeah, what's with that? Why would Harry Hart need to fake date _anyone_? You're fit as fuck, beautiful, smart, rich, important. You could have anyone."

"Thank you for the ego-boost, my dear, but haven't you been following all of the gossip about my failed love life?"

"I've never been the kinds of guy who like reading about other people's romantic misfortunes. Seems kind of sleazy." Eggsy shrugs and makes a face. "That goes double for people I admire."

"So you don't know about me and a certain young actor?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "Nope. Who were you banging?"

"Charlie Hesketh." For the first time, Harry doesn't feel anything when he says that name. Not shame, not embarrassment, not loss. 

"Wait, you dated that talentless loser?"

"I hate to admit it, but we were together for over a year. He'd had a bit part in a movie that I'd written. We met on set and I was taken in by his charms. It's embarrassing how easily he'd convinced me to expand his role, to give him more lines."

"Shit, that's right. You wrote _Pushing Moonbeams_ ; Charlie's up for the Best Supporting Actor BAFTA in that. And you're nominated for the Best Original Screenplay for it. I got up early to watch the announcements. I might not care about who's boinking whom or who gone dumped by whom, but I definitely follow the industry, especially in awards season."

"Merlin's been after me to get a date for all of the red carpet events coming up. Says that I need someone better looking and younger than Charlie."

Eggsy gives Harry a sly grin. "Someone with more talent, too. No offense to _Pushing Moonbeams_ , but Charlie's a lazy hack. He couldn't cut it at RADA and would have been asked to leave except that he left first. Said he was too much 'in demand' to spend four years in school 'just pretending' to be an actor." Eggsy suddenly looks puzzled. "Huh. Just realized something. Charlie had always been bragging that he didn't need to audition for anything. He's too well-connected, that a relative was the head of the biggest talent agency in London. He'd get real coy about it, too, saying he wasn't a name-dropper."

Harry knows just who the mystery relative is. "Charlie's great-uncle is Chester King." Harry can't believe he'd forgotten that. "Chester had thrown a fit when Charlie and I had gotten together. And then, out of the blue, he seemed perfectly all right with it. Always wanted to take us out to dinner, was far too friendly, asking way too many questions. Even tried to get me to leave MacLeish, Morton and Spenser. As if that's even possible; I've known Merlin since we were in grammar school and I wouldn't trust anyone else with my career, let alone a homophobic cunt like Chester King."

Eggsy shakes his head, obviously amused at the idea of Harry Hart being represented by a homophobic cunt like Chester King, but brings the conversation back to its original purpose. "So, Merlin's right that you can't go stag to any of the ceremonies. And especially not ones where you might even be on the carpet at the same time as Charlie." That sly grin broadens.

"I definitely need someone younger, prettier, smarter, and more talented, if just to show that my lapse in taste and good judgment is only temporary. And I think I'm looking at the perfect candidate."

Eggsy strikes a pose that's both highly camp and terribly alluring. "I fit the bill?"

"To a tee, my dear." It takes a tremendous amount of willpower and self-denial for Harry to stop himself from sealing the deal with a kiss. He's going to have to keep reminding himself that this isn't _that_ kind of relationship.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

There's an expression Eggsy's mum pulls out when Eggsy whines at her about his constant failure, _"You never know how the day's going to end when you get out of bed in the morning."_ And today, that's the fucking truth of things. He'd gone to the audition with a small modicum of hope, which had been ruthlessly crushed, but came home to find that hope hadn't been completely dead. All he'd needed to do was one small favor for a very important man.

All such small favors should have such big payoffs, and Eggsy's not even considering the representation contract with Merlin that's going to rescue his stalled acting career. Doing this small favor has made Eggsy Unwin tick off one very important item on his bucket list. He has met Harry Hart. Harry Reginald Hart. Playwright, screenwriter, actor. Winner of more awards in more categories than any other living playwright. 

A man who is so fucking fit that Eggsy had to bend over and play with a dog to avoid displaying how quickly he got sprung.

It seems all so surreal, that he's sitting in Harry Hart's living room, having tea that Harry Hart made for him, telling Harry Hart about his dreams and ambitions. That he'd cried in front of Harry Hart, had been soothed by the man's dog, and then by the man himself.

"So, what now?"

"I'm not quite sure. I've never fake dated anyone. Have you?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "It's kind of embarrassing to admit, but I've never actually dated anyone."

"No one? Really?" Harry raises an elegant eyebrow at Eggsy admission.

_Definitely embarrassing._ "Yeah, really. I mean, there were people I hung out with, but no one romantically." Eggsy's not going to tell Harry anything more about his lost childhood. "Made some good friends at RADA and we'd go out together, as a pack. It was fun and easy and everyone knew that it would be a bad idea to get serious with another student in such a competitive atmosphere. Maybe hooked up with a guy for a couple of weeks, but never anything the least bit serious. Always too busy, and besides, it's not like I bring a lot to the relationship table. Just an acting student with no money, now a failed actor. Not the kind of guy someone wants to show off."

Harry seems a little taken aback. "But you're beautiful!"

Eggsy feels a hot blush rise up from his neck. 

"And there's nothing wrong with not having been in a serious relationship. I just would have thought that the world would have laid itself at your feet."

Eggsy can't quite process Harry's words. Harry thinks he's _beautiful_? 

"I've embarrassed you, haven't I?"

"A little. Not really used to getting compliments like that." Eggsy rubs the back of his neck. "And as far as beautiful, have you looked in the mirror, bruv? You're like some god or something. I can't believe I didn't recognize you when you opened the door – you don't look anything like what's on the back of your books."

Harry laughs. "Depending on the edition, there are three possible and equally terrible pictures of me – there's one where I'm a white pantsuit from my disco queen days, one where I'm wearing far too much eyeliner to disguise how hungover I'd been, and one with a beard and a lot of atmospheric lighting."

"I have all of them, but got to say that the one with the beard makes you look like you're an utter dick." As soon as the words leave his mouth, Eggsy slaps a hand over his face. "Sorry, so fucking sorry."

Harry just chuckles. "No worries, my boy, that was taken during my Utter Dick period."

Relieved and emboldened and maybe a touch intoxicated by everything that's happened, Eggsy adds, "You're rocking that Daddy as Fuck look, like you'd like nothing better than to turn a guy over, bang him until you come, zip up and walk away."

"Well, that's good to know, but not a very accurate portrayal, since I'm the one who'd prefer to get banged. And in the right mood, wouldn't mind being left hanging, so to speak."

The only sound in the room is the sleepy snuffle from Mr. Pickle as he rolls over on his bed, burying himself in Eggsy's ruined jacket.

"Ah, I've overshared?" Harry tries to smooth over the moment.

Eggsy's mouth is in gear, but his brain is clearly disengaged. "Um, no? Because even though I thought you were all serious Dom in that photo, I kind of jerked off to it, maybe thinking about fucking you. Fucking that snotty, evil look off your face, making you beg for me." Eggsy covers his face again. "And now, I definitely should leave, because I think I've just won the Academy Award for Best Awkward Oversharing by an Embarrassed Actor in a Drama."

"Well. Well." Harry gets up and paces around the room. "It seems that we're rather – ah – compatible."

Eggsy forces himself to ignore what Harry just said; thinking about it will lead to all kinds of disasters. "Do you want me to go and never come back?" Eggsy kind of hates himself now. It had been going so well and now he's ruined it. "I didn't mean to tell you that. I don't even know you and I've been fantasizing – " _Shit, Unwin, just shut your trap already._

"No! I don't want you to leave. I started it, after all." Harry gathers up the tea things and disappears with them into the kitchen.

Eggsy still thinks about doing a runner, then he thinks about the expression on Harry's face when he'd told him about his fantasies. There had been an aching sort of hunger in Harry's eyes, just for a second or two. Maybe that had been a hunger for something more than a fake relationship to make himself look good during awards season.

So Eggsy stays put and tries to think of things other than his wildly inappropriate sexual fantasies, things they could talk about in a "getting to know you" kind of way. In school, Eggsy had done more than his fair share of those kind of exercises, as ways to build a character into a role, to discover motivations and rationale, to make the words on the page come alive.

He'd been good at that, and more importantly, he'd loved it. It had been why Eggsy had gravitated to the theatre, rather than movies and television. There's a visceral immediateness to theatre, for both the actors and the audience, that has always energized Eggsy. 

Maybe he can use some of those skills on Harry when Harry comes back. If they are going to fake date in public, they're going to have to be pretty sure of themselves as a couple. He doesn't want to come off as an ignorant chav, a hanger on who's only with Harry for what Harry can give him. A less well-born version of Charlie Hesketh.

Harry hadn't really said much about Charlie, but Eggsy knows enough about his fellow actor to realize that Charlie had used Harry for whatever he could get from Harry – likely a bigger role in the movie Harry had written. And when he gotten what he'd wanted, he'd dumped Harry.

Eggsy hadn't lied when he said that he doesn't pay attention to celebrity gossip and had no idea that Harry and Charlie had been an item, but he'd heard from a few of his fellow students that Charlie had taken up with his very pretty co-star in that movie, a young American ingénue whose family are often called Hollywood royalty. Eggsy had kept his mouth shut, but that had seemed like the rankest kind of brown nosing, especially since Charlie is as bent as a paperclip and wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do with a pussy.

But this train of thought is pointless; Eggsy doesn't want to bring up Charlie at all. He needs some better way to connect with Harry. Books might do it.

Eggsy gets up and peruses the contents of Harry's bookcases. There are the usual suspects – the great English and British playwrights from the last three centuries, as well as the better American ones, too. There's a section devoted to writers who focused on gay themes; Eggsy's familiar with all of them, even the ones who'd treated queerness as a disease. The shelf below that one has a wide variety of biographies, from the jazz musician, Charlie Parker, to the Beat writer, Jack Kerouac, to the Belgian surrealist, Rene Magritte, with other creative and historical figures in between. Eggsy can't figure out any connection amongst this odd assortment. Maybe it's something he can ask Harry about.

But something distracts Eggsy from that plan. It's a shelf filled with Harry's own works, mostly various editions of the published editions of his plays, including a copy of the same pink, cloth-bound version of _Young Queers With Old Faces_ that Eggsy had found on the library shelf a decade ago and started him on his journey. What's more intriguing are the notebooks that Eggsy's itching to pull out and read. 

Instead of violating Harry's trust and privacy, he pulls a book off the shelf at random. It's a copy of _Back Door Angels_ , probably Harry Hart's one and only flop. Eggsy had seen the play and had been surprised by how lackluster it had been. He hadn't thought it deserved the panning it had gotten from the critics, but there had definitely been things wrong with it. At the time, Eggsy had wondered if it had been a casting and design problem, but he couldn't locate a published copy of the play. He goes back to the couch, turns on a table lamp and reads. When Pickle joins him on the couch a few minutes later, Eggsy's completely absorbed in Harry's words.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry can't quite believe that he's run out of his own living room. He's never considered himself a coward, so maybe this is just a strategic retreat in the face of overwhelming odds.

Or perhaps it's merely an avoidance technique. After all, if he's not in the same room as Eggsy, there's little likelihood that he'll make a total ass out of himself.

 _Ass_. Now there's a word. He'd like to offer up his ass to Eggsy, like some fabulous Cordon Bleu meal on a silver platter.

Eggsy, in his perfectly artless, perfectly perfect way, has given voice to one of Harry's most intense fantasies, stretching Harry's control to a hair-thin line. If he'd stayed in the living room, he might just have done something he'd regret for the rest of his life.

Harry runs the tap, letting the water get cold and washes his hands and face. The chill shocks some sense back into him, but he's not so quick to go back and confront that beautiful demon. So Harry stands in his kitchen, foolishly alone and listens for the sound of Eggsy leaving.

Except Eggsy doesn't seem to leave and Harry can't hide here until Eggsy does. Because the truth is, he doesn't want Eggsy to leave. He is as enthralled by Eggsy's mind as he is about Eggsy's body and as much as he'd love for Eggsy to fuck him into oblivion, he's also just as interested as discovering how deep Eggsy's intellect goes.

Did Merlin even realize just how compatible he and Eggsy would be when he arranged this? That thought sparks a bit of jealous. Exactly how Merlin had picked Eggsy as a candidate for a potential fake-dating scheme is an unknown that Harry wants to explore. Merlin is a man with very particular tastes in men, and what he does with them is mostly incongruous to Harry's own desires. He's always regretted he isn't as emotionally flexible as Merlin, or that Merlin isn't so commitment-phobic, because having someone he trusts as much as Merlin as a life-partner could be nice.

_Enough of the dithering, Hart. Get back into the living room and have a normal adult conversation with Eggsy or send him home._

It still takes Harry a few more minutes to gather himself and he makes a detour into the powder room, where Mr. Pickle the First stands guard over the bog. Harry nods to the taxidermied dog and stares at himself in the mirror. He usually likes how he looks; despite some hard living in the last century, time has dealt lightly with him. He doesn't look one of those foolish men who's spent too much money with plastic surgeons and cosmeticians, trying to deny their age, but he doesn't does look as old as he feels, either.

And of course, Eggsy's words are a boost to an ego kicked around by Charlie. What had Eggsy said, that he's "fit as fuck"? Eggsy also called him beautiful. Harry looks at himself and doesn't feel particularly beautiful. He feels like a human mess.

 _But that will have to do._ Harry fusses with his hair and takes off the beige cardigan. He straightens his shirt and retucks it into his pants. As Harry looks at himself in profile, he feels a little better about himself. Maybe not beautiful, but he's spent enough time in the gym to be called "fit as fuck".

Harry finds his courage and heads back into the living room. Eggsy's there, sitting on his couch, Pickle on his lap, and reading a book. He looks like he belongs there, like this is how he always spends his days. Harry clears his throat and Eggsy looks up and smiles.

"I'm sorry for running out on you like that."

"Sorry for making you so uncomfortable that you had to."

_Uncomfortable is certainly a word for it._

"Are we good?"

"Of course." Despite his words, Harry feels paralyzed.

But it seems that Eggsy's put the difficulties behind him. "I hope you don't mind that I raided your bookshelf."

That seems to break the spell and Harry finds that he can move now. That he can think and talk and act like a normal – and not sex-crazed – person. "What are you reading?"

 _"Back Door Angels"_.

Harry lets out a hefty sigh. "Ah, my great failure. Why would you waste your time on that?"

"I've wanted to read it, but could never find a copy."

"With good reason. It's a terrible play. My very own _The Man Who Had Three Arms_."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. That play was fucking rank. And _Back Door Angels_ ran for a whole month – thirty-seven performances. _The Man Who Had Three Arms_ didn't even make it two weeks on Broadway! Ran for nine performances after preview."

Harry's impressed. "You know your theatre history."

Eggsy just shrugs. "RADA grad, have to know all about the good and the bad. Besides, I kind of like Albee, even though he wrote some mean and weird shit – real Theatre of the Absurd stuff. _The Man Who Had Three Arms_ was simply a bad play with good ideas."

"I met Edward Albee a few times."

"Was he as weird as his plays?"

"He chewed me out for being a gay playwright, always writing about being gay. Told me that I should speak in a more universal voice."

Eggsy frowns at that. "And I suppose that Larry Kramer told you that you weren't gay enough."

Harry has to laugh. "That is the absolute truth. We met at a fundraiser for the New York City Gay Men's Chorus and he told me that I was too nicey-nicey and that _Young Queers_ was all rose-tinted glasses and not ugly enough. He said that AIDS is an ugly thing and demanded that it not be romanticized.

"Oi, _Young Queers_ is fucking perfect and I don't care what Larry Kramer or Edward Albee or Tony Kushner or any other queer says against it."

Harry takes a small, not-quite-so-ironic bow. "Thank you."

"It's the truth, swear down."

It would be the height of bad manners to argue in the face of such utter sincerity, so Harry changes the subject. "It's getting a bit late. Would you like to join me for dinner?"

"Really?" Eggsy looks like he's been given a much-longed-for present. "That would be aces."

"All right. Just let me feed Mr. Pickle and wash up. "

"Should probably do that, too. You have a washroom I can use?"

Harry points Eggsy towards the downstairs bathroom and holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable shriek. _5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1_. No shriek, so it seems that Eggsy's a heartier soul than most.

Harry tells Pickle it's dinner time and the little dog comes running. He feeds him and washes up. There's a doggy door that leads to the small walled garden behind the house, and Pickle knows to do his business in the proper place.

When he meets Eggsy back in the living room, Eggsy gives him a slightly disgusted look. "The butterflies and insects I kind of get, but the stuffed dog?"

"Mr. Pickle the First. I had never planned on getting another dog and wanted to memorialize what he meant to me, but then Pickle the Second happened."

"And he's in the guest powder room?"

"Watching over the upstairs bog just as fiercely as Mr. Pickle the First guards the downstairs one."

"And you'll have Pickle the Third stuffed, too?"

"When the time comes, hopefully not for many years, he'll take up residence in the master en suite."

"Anyone ever tell you that you are an extremely strange man?"

"All the time, my dear boy. Does it scare you off?" Harry has never felt the least bit ashamed by his oddities

"Nah, not really. I guess we all need our hobbies." Eggsy grins. "I bet Charlie had definitely tried to make you get rid of everything."

Harry nods. "It had been a constant struggle between us. Charlie had made his distaste for my decorating style well known, and since I wasn't going to change to suit him, we'd spend most of our time together at his flat. Pickle would poop in the most unexpected places in Charlie's flat."

"Good for Mr. Pickle and I'm real happy that Charlie didn't succeed in changing you. You're my kind of weird, Harry." 

"Thank you, Eggsy." Harry is inexplicably delighted that he meets with this boy's approval.

Since it's early January and they're going to walk to the restaurant, Harry lends Eggsy a leather jacket, one he's kept for too many years. The sleeves are a bit on the long side, but Eggsy fills it out nicely in the shoulders. "That a good look for you. Consider it a replacement for the one Mr. Pickle has claimed as his own." 

Eggsy rubs his cheek on the sheepskin collar. "Thanks, it's too nice, though. I mean, my Jeremy Scott was a knock-off job, and second-hand to boot. This is the real thing."

"Which I haven't worn in twenty-five years. I'd once dreamed of owning a motorcycle and cruising around London like some degenerate bad boy, but I couldn't even wheel one out of a showroom without crashing into everything in sight. Rather than risk being seen the worst kind of poser, I hung the jacket in the back of the closet. Pretty much the only thing about my life that's ever lived in the closet."

Eggsy laughs at Harry's dry witticism. "Then I'll wear it with pride."

Harry fusses with the fit of the jacket. "We can have it altered, get the cuffs shortened to fit you."

"Don't have to. It won't fit you if we do that."

"I should have said, we _will_ have it altered." Harry finds something immensely satisfying in seeing Eggsy wearing his clothes. 

Eggsy's eyes blaze, not with greed but with mischief. "You're real bossy, ain't ya?"

"You don't know the half of it, my dear boy."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

They end up at a small Italian place about halfway between Harry's mews house and the apartment building where Eggsy lives with Roxy.

Fredo, the owner, looks at them with surprised delight, "Ah, Senor Eggsy, Senor Harry, you are here together?"

Eggsy quickly looks over at Harry and when he nods, Eggsy confirms, and asks, in Italian, for the most romantic table in the house.

After Fredo seats them at a corner banquette and lights the tea candles on the table, Harry says, "Aren't you full of surprises."

"Because I can speak Italian?" Eggsy doesn't know if he should be insulted or not.

"Yes, among other things."

Eggsy decides that Harry isn't intending any offense and explains. "I'd wanted to do my second year performance externship at the Florence festival and thought I'd have a better chance of getting into the program if I spoke Italian. My best mate, Roxy, had hooked me up with Fredo, who needed someone to help negotiate between the front of the house and the kitchen. Let's just say I'm now a lot more fluent in Italian than if I'd just done DuoLingo."

"And did you enjoy Florence? It's one of my favorite cities."

"Nope. Didn't get to go. Ended up doing my externship at the Alpach Forum in Austria. And I didn't know a word of German."

"Do you, now?"

" _Ein bisschen. Genug um Bier und Schnitzel zu bestellen._ " Eggsy actually knows a bit more than that, but he doesn't want to come across as bragging.

Except it doesn't seem to bother Harry, who just says, in German, "Yes, Eggsy, you are definitely full of surprises."

Eggsy basks in Harry's approval, which seems to grow exponentially through the meal, as they converse in bits of German and Italian and English.

"I have a flat in Florence."

"A room with a view?" Eggsy manages to ask with a straight face.

Harry smiles approvingly at the literary allusion. "Of the Duomo, of course. We should go there, I would love to show you the city."

Eggsy can't quite tell if Harry's being sincere. Maybe there's a festival or an awards ceremony he'll need to attend and will need Eggsy to accompany him. It seems unlikely that Harry would just want his company for any other reason."

Throughout dinner, the conversation strays all over the place – Harry's work as a screenwriter (he says it's what pays the bills) to Eggsy's recent auditions (Harry mentions taking a contract out on Chester King, he knows a guy who knows a guy who's really good at staging accidents).

"Nah, Chester's not worth manslaughter. I've got Merlin in my corner now, he's not going to screw me over."

"He'd better not, not if he knows what's good for him. I've told you, we go way back and I know where the bodies are buried."

"Literally or figuratively?"

"I'm not telling." Harry sips the espresso Fredo had brought out with the tiramisu to end the meal and eyes Eggsy over the rim of the cup. "So we're doing this, right?"

"The fake dating thing? If you think I'll be convincing as your arm candy."

"I most certainly am. You're everything that I need. Handsome, young, smart, talented. You're someone I can talk to without feeling like I'm a century older than you. Most importantly, I like you."

Eggsy can't help but beam at Harry. "Good, because I like you, too. You're funny and hot and you don't talk down to me I keep having to remind myself that you're famous and you know more about the world than I ever will. It's kind of weird how hard it is to remember that you're Harry Hart, my favorite playwright, and not just some seriously cute but seriously weird bloke who collects butterflies and keeps his dead dogs in his bathrooms."

Harry smiles at that and he looks more like someone Eggsy's age than someone twice his age, which Eggsy finds absolutely adorable. It's going to be pretty fucking hard to remember that he's just fake dating Harry Hart, that their relationship isn't ever going to be real.

They linger for a while longer, until the restaurant is empty. Harry pays the tab and they both bid Fredo goodnight. The January night is cold and their breath clouds the air as they step out onto the street.

Harry asks, "Do you need to a cab?"

"Nah, I'm about two blocks away. Can get home in about five minutes if I hoof it."

"May I walk with you?"

"That'd be aces."

Harry holds out an elbow and Eggsy tucks his arm through it. Harry does adjust the length of his stride to accommodate Eggsy's shorter legs, but it still feels like they're flying. And it doesn't take nearly long enough before they get to Eggsy apartment building.

"Do you want to come up? I don't make as good an espresso as Fredo, but …"

Harry shakes his head. "Tonight, I will need to decline. But tomorrow – "

"What's tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I take you to my tailor. You'll need to get fitted for a whole wardrobe, one worthy of the red carpet and dating a somewhat public figure."

"Huh?" A knot forms in his stomach. Eggsy barely has the dosh for few extras, like the winged Adidas he loves, buying a new wardrobe is going to be impossible. Maybe Merlin could front him the cash.

"And no arguments, my boy. I'm paying for it."

Eggsy takes in and then lets out a deep breath. "All right." Eggsy can rationalize a new wardrobe, especially if it's clothes he'd not otherwise own.

"And we'll also need to settle on some kind of salary. I presume that Merlin said you'd be paid for your time with me."

It feels like a bucket of ice water's just been dumped on his head. Of course Merlin had said he'd be compensated for his time, but while he's never forgotten that they are supposed to be fake dating – Eggsy's has been going out of his way to remind them both – he's nauseous at the idea of taking cash from Harry for this.

"No."

"No?"

"Not a whore." _Not anymore._

"Of course not! I just want – "

Eggsy cuts him off, his voice as cold as he can make it. "You ain't Edward and I ain't Vivian and this ain't _Pretty Woman_."

Harry shakes his head. "I've insulted you."

"Yeah." Eggsy lifts his chin and stares Harry down. "I like you. A lot. I know that you're way above my pay-grade and you'd never look twice at me if you weren't worrying about losing face. But taking money to spend time with you is all kinds of gross and if you're gonna insist on it, then I'm gonna say good night and goodbye and tell Merlin he'll need to rip up our contract and find ya someone else."

"Eggsy – "

Eggsy doesn't let Harry speak. "No. No, I ain't taking your money. And that's final."

"My dear boy." Harry looks at him with this soft, wondrous expression that makes Eggsy's resolve turn to mush. He doesn't want to lose Harry, even if the only thing they'll have is pretense.

"Don't."

Harry touches his cheek. "I would not want to lose you, either. You've been in my life for just a few short hours and I find that I'm filled with anticipation for tomorrow and the next day and the days after that."

It would be so easy for Eggsy to go up on his toes and kiss Harry, to bring him upstairs and take him to his bedroom. To make this real in all of the right ways. And the wrong ways, too.

Harry rubs a soft thumb across Eggsy's jaw before pulling away. "I understand what you're saying. I just don't want you to suffer for the time you'll be spending with me."

Eggsy has to acknowledge that there's going to be a cost to doing this. "Yeah, it's not like I'll be able to take any roles if I need to be with you."

"Exactly. You'll have to be at my beck and call – " Harry grimaces, as if he doesn't like those words, "for the rest of awards season, through February. And probably for a few months after that, if we want to keep this plausible."

Eggsy feels breathless, like he's standing on the precipice of something. "Yeah, don't want any blowback. Because the paps are all wankers and if we stop seeing each other too quick, they'll be all over that. But I'm still not taking your money."

"Will you have any objections if I cover all of your expenses while we're together? Not just the wardrobe and the travel, but your rent? It can't be cheap living here."

"Not necessary. Roxy's a good mate. Her uncles own the apartment, she only pays rent because she don't want to seem like she's sponging. She says that she won't take anything from me until I get a full time gig."

"And there's nothing that'll make you change your mind?"

"No. Nothing. Probably foolish of me to turn down the dosh, but if it feels wrong, it probably is."

"You're too young to be so wise. I'd been over sixty when I finally learned that lesson."

Eggsy shakes his head and chuckles. "Bruv, you're fifty-two. Still got a few years to go before you get to sixty."

"Exactly, and please, don't call me 'bruv'."

Now that the crisis has passed, Eggsy feels like he can tease Harry. "Sure thing, _bruv_." 

Harry chuckles. "Go inside, Eggsy. I'll call you tomorrow."

"You don't have my number, can't call me without it." Eggsy holds out his hand and makes the gimme gesture. Harry sighs, pulls out his phone, unlocks it and gives it to him.

Eggsy sends himself a text and hands the phone back to Harry. "There you go, all set."

"I'd suggest we meet for breakfast, but I'm not an early riser. Would you like to go to lunch with me after we go to the tailor?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Eggsy stands there, looking at Harry. He's probably got some stupid grin on his face, but he doesn't care. Harry's just staring back at him, smiling, too.

"You should probably get inside, call it a night."

"Probably." But Eggsy doesn't make a move. He thinks, _I'd really like to kiss you._

It's only when Harry says, "That sounds lovely," does Eggsy realize he's spoken those words aloud.

Instead of overanalyzing it or talking himself out of it or some other kind of nonsense, Eggsy puts action to words and leans in, brushing a soft kiss against Harry's lips, and in a fit of utter daring, slips his tongue into Harry's mouth for just the briefest of seconds. Eggsy can taste the espresso and the raspberry from the dessert they'd shared, and better than that, he can taste Harry Hart, who tastes better than his dreams.

He steps back, feeling dazed, as if he's just awoken from a dream. "Night, Harry."

"Goodnight, Eggsy. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, you will." Eggsy turns and heads up the steps, and before he opens the front door, he turns back. Harry's still standing there, hands in his coat pockets, the streetlamp shining on his hair. Eggsy waves, ducks his head and goes inside.

He can't imagine ever feeling better than this.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Chapter 4

Harry rolls over and tries to ignore the sound of his mobile. It's far too early for anyone, especially Merlin, to be calling. But even as the phone stops ringing, it starts again and Merlin's always been the very definition of persistence.

So Harry answers the phone. "Fuck you, Merlin. It's barely past dawn. What the fuck do you want?"

"It's nine-thirty, the sun's been up for about an hour. And I want to know how yesterday went."

"It went fine." Harry doesn't want to share yesterday with anyone, not even his best friend. Not yet. "I'll talk to you tonight, all right?"

"No, not all right. I'm at your front door, I've brought breakfast. I'm going to use my key to let myself in. If I don't hear the water running by the time I finish making coffee, I'll come upstairs and drag you by the short and curlies into the bathroom and dump you under an ice cold shower."

"Anyone tell you you're an utter bitch?"

"You, about ten days ago, when I told you to stop whining about Charlie Hesketh."

"Charlie Who?"

"Good man." 

From Merlin's phone, Harry hears the front door open and Pickle skittering across the hardwood floors to great his guest. "Hanging up now."

Harry forces himself out from under the covers; he prefers to sleep with layers in a very cool bedroom which means getting out of bed in the wintertime is rarely a pleasant experience. But Harry's a sybarite and his bathroom has all of the modern conveniences, including a separate heater that keeps the space at a constant twenty-two degrees, plus a heated floor and towel rack, and best of all, a voice-controlled shower.

Even though he knows Merlin is waiting, Harry takes his time, lingering in the shower, taking extra care with his grooming, then selecting the day's wardrobe. He knows just how much every minute he spends upstairs will piss Merlin off. He finishes dressing, takes some time to check his appearance, fusses a bit more with his hair, swaps out the cufflinks he'd first selected, and only then heads downstairs. 

It's been at least an hour since Merlin arrived.

A fact that Merlin doesn't hesitate to remind him of. "I've been waiting for an hour, you know."

Harry shrugs and helps himself to a bagel. "You didn't want to see me all bad-eyed and loveless, I'm sure."

"Oh, hell no. And at your age, it certainly takes time to get presentable."

"Fuck off." Harry says without any real heat. They've been sniping at each other like this since their days at Winchester. "At least I have hair to groom. The best decision you ever made was to get rid of that comb-over when you were twenty-one."

"I was thirty-five, you shit, not twenty-one."

"You started losing your hair when you were nineteen."

"Remind me, why am I your friend?" Merlin's tone is wry. 

This is another bit of old banter and Harry responds as if it's a much loved and oft-rehearsed script. "Because I adore you. Because I'll never write you into a play. Because I couldn't survive without you." Harry takes a bite of his bagel, chews, swallows and wipes his mouth. He adds a new line, "Because you bring people like Eggsy Unwin into my life." 

"Ah."

"That's why you're here, disturbing my much needed rest."

"Exactly." Merlin pours a fresh cup of coffee. "I am guessing it went well."

"Very much so. He's quite an impressive young man. Not at all what I'd expected."

"I can only imagine what you'd expected. Some slightly classier version of Charlie, someone who'd look good next to you while you smiled for the paparazzi."

"That is true, but can you explain why the paparazzi are even interested in me? I'm just a playwright."

Merlin rolls his eyes at that. "Harry, you're not _just_ a playwright. You're a multiple award-winning playwright of controversial material and you'd made a career out of up-ending expectations. You're reaping the harvest you sowed in your youth, when you made it a point of getting noticed. Remember the bright blue and purple hair at the '87 Oliviers? The peacock feather cape, sequined velvet coat, and platform shoes for the Academy Awards in '90? You were proud to be queer and flamboyant and you made the world take notice and told them to fuck off if they were offended. And even though you prefer hand-tailored bespoke suits these days, you're still making the world notice you. You're not content to scribble away in some moss and ivy covered cottage in the Home Counties, you're as outspoken and public as you were back in the day. You're also an Academy Award winning screenplay writer. And if you really didn't want to be noticed, you wouldn't act – "

Harry can't defend himself against the truth, but he can stop the complete steam-rollering. "I rarely act. I've only been in three films."

"I should point out that of the three films you've been in, each has been nominated for Best Picture BAFTAs, and that you've been nominated twice for your roles."

"Haven't won any acting awards." Harry pretends to pout.

"Well, you lost to Alan Rickman in '07; this year, you're the odds-on favorite. Also, you're rather cute in a golden retriever sort of way. You're fifty-two and under the right lighting you still manage to look like an overly-serious teenager. That's why the paps hound you. You're pretty, you're talented, you're gay, and you've never hidden it."

Harry doesn't know if he cares for being compared to a golden retriever or an overly serious teenager.

"So, tell me about your meeting with Eggsy."

Harry doesn't want to gush, but he can't help it. "He's lovely."

"Got a set of thighs on him that could crush diamonds."

"I didn't notice." Of course that's a lie. Harry had noticed _everything_.

"Bullshit. Bet that was the _second_ thing you noticed."

Harry sniffs, "Maybe."

Merlin doesn't let up on the subject. "So, if his thighs were the second thing you noticed about Eggsy, I have to know, what was the first?"

"It's a tossup between his eyes and his jawline; he looks like he just stepped off a piece of Hellenic pottery."

Merlin nods. "He's not conventionally pretty."

"Not in the least." 

"I thought you'd find his strength appealing."

Harry does. "He's beautiful, in a very Michelangelo sort of way." There's no point in lying to Merlin. "I've seen him before."

"His RADA production of _Young Queers_. I'd wondered if you'd remembered that."

"How could I forget. Eggsy's performance as Galahad had been one of the best I've ever seen. He deserves much better than what he's gotten." Harry doesn't feels he's exaggerating in the least.

"You know, Chester's done a number on him."

"I'd offered to take out a contract on Chester. I bet you still know the right people to handle that."

"I'd rather ruin him instead. Been thinking about taking down King & Co. for years, just needed a push at the right time. This time next year, Chester won't have a pot to piss in."

Harry nods, pleased by the thought. 

"So, you don't see any issues about putting him in the public eye?"

"Other than the new wardrobe he needs, none at all."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Of course that would be the first thing you'd point out. But yes, that jacket has to go."

"Pickle has already taken care of that." Harry whistles for his dog, who comes trotting into the kitchen. "Pickle, be a good boy and bring us your prize." The terrier races back to the living room and Harry wonders if the dog understands the command. 

Pickle does. He returns, dragging Eggsy's hideous jacket over to his bed in the corner. Just as he had in the living room, Pickle makes a nest and lays down in the middle of it, resting his head on his paws.

"Well, I have to take back every nasty thing I've ever thought about your dog. This one has taste."

"That he does. Pickle took to Eggsy right away."

"If I recall, the first time you introduced Charlie to Pickle, Pickle pissed on him."

"Yes. And do me a favor, Merlin."

"Anything within reason."

"Stop mentioning Charlie. He's out of my life and he's not even a blip on my emotional radar anymore."

"Glad to see you've finally managed to put the twunt in the rear view mirror."

"It's taken some time, and you've been a big help with that." Harry has to give Merlin credit where credit is due.

"You're welcome. I should qualify for sainthood for all the time I spent listening to you rattle on about Charlie."

"Now you get a chance to listen to me rattle on about Eggsy."

"You know this relationship isn't real, Harry."

"I know. But I can still like him, can't I?" Harry thinks he's sounding like a teenage boy, now.

"Even though he's only in it for the money?"

Harry gets to play the ace he's been holding. "Except he's not." Although he'd been distressed about Eggsy's insistence last night, Harry can't help but feel smug right now.

"What do you mean?"

"He's not in it for the money. Eggsy's refused to take a pence from me. He's not letting me pay him and if it isn't for the fact that he'll be seen with me in some very public events, I don't think he would let me buy him a new wardrobe."

Merlin frowns. "Then what does he want from you?"

"I don't know. Maybe just the pleasure of my company?"

"More likely a leg up in some future West End production or a movie you'll write."

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think so. Eggsy strikes me as the type of man who wants to make it honestly. But then, I thought I'd found true love with Charlie and re-wrote _Pushing Moonbeams_ so he could have more screen time. It's quite possible that I could be completely wrong."

"You never thought it was true love, Harry. You liked the boy's cock and thought you were past your prime. The bad reviews on _Back Door Angels_ knocked you off your game, made you doubt yourself. You fell to easily for Charlie's flattery."

Merlin knows him all too well. "Well, if anything, Eggsy's a boost to my ego, too. He called me Britain's greatest living playwright. If he wants an inside shot on my next endeavor, I'll do what I can to make it happen."

"Harry, you need to be a little more skeptical of people."

"I spent a lot of my twenties and thirties being skeptical of people. That's why I spent most of my forties alone. I don't think Eggsy's out for anything."

"No one, especially an actor who can't get a role, is that stainless and pure."

"I presume you've done a background check on him."

"Nothing more than what's usually done for any potential client. Took a look at his social media pages, checked the public databases, asked a friend at the Met to do a name check. Other than a misdemeanor involving a bit of joyriding when he was seventeen, he's surprisingly clean for someone who grew in a South London housing estate."

Harry's not surprised; Eggsy seems to be particularly untouched by life. But he does have some questions for Merlin. "How did you know that Eggsy was getting screwed over by Chester?"

"I have eyes and ears everywhere, Harry. You know that. It's my job to know what's going on in the industry."

Harry's skeptical of that. "You just happen to pay attention to how King & Co. is treating one young and insignificant RADA grad? That seems a stretch."

"What are you asking, Harry?"

"I'm just curious how you actually know Eggsy? I admit that he's not really the type to go whining to someone about his problems, but you move in interesting circles. I'd like to know if Eggsy is a player in those circles."

Merlin chuckles. "You want to know if the lad is into the same kinky shit that I am? That I know him from one of the clubs?"

"The thought had crossed my mind." It had more than crossed his mind. Harry hadn't been able to get the thought out of his brain for hours after he'd said goodnight to Eggsy.

"And the answer is categorically no, he's not. Eggsy's a connection to my firm via James and Alastair. Their niece, Roxanne, had been at RADA when Eggsy was there and they had become close friends; Eggsy's been living with Roxy since they both graduated. She had dropped by the offices a few days ago and mentioned that she thought Eggsy had been getting a raw deal by Chester. The Charlie situation has been troubling me and when she told me about Eggsy, I thought the lad might be a solution to the problem. I just hope he doesn't end up creating a bigger problem for you down the line."

Harry lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, and I think we'll be fine. He's a smart young man, full of potential. I would like to see that potential realized." 

"I do, too. I'll have a full round of auditions for him after awards season is over."

Harry decides to drop a bombshell. "I'm thinking about reviving _Young Queers_ , and I want Eggsy to play Galahad."

Merlin, however, is not the least bit surprised. "That sounds like an excellent idea. I'll start sounding out backers this week – this is the time, with your name on everyone's lips for the BAFTAs. Any thought about finally selling the movie rights?"

"No. That's never going to happen. I saw what Larry Kramer went through with the rights to _The Normal Heart_."

"Times are different now."

Harry's adamant. "I don't need the money and if I want it produced for the screen, I'll do it myself." 

"Fair enough. Let's get it back on the West End, and maybe bring it to Broadway. If the reception is good, we'll talk about making a movie."

They discuss plans for a little while longer, and Merlin suggests, half-jokingly, that Harry and Eggsy go on one of those awful celebrity quiz shows. "It would be nice exposure for the lad. I'm sure he can hold his own."

"No quiz shows, please." Harry still has nightmares about the turn he'd done on _IQ_. "Isn't there some ball or gala coming up that needs MacLeish Morton & Spenser's money? A table for twelve with empty seats to fill?"

"That's not a bad idea. RADA is having a fundraiser in two weeks and we still have two places to fill at our table. Do think you can get your tailor to whip up a tuxedo for the lad in time?"

"We'll find out." Harry holds up a hand as he calls his tailors and makes the appointment for Eggsy. The phrase "my friend will require a whole new wardrobe" makes the request "including a tuxedo that will be needed in ten days" significantly less impossible. He then sends a text to Eggsy, asking him to meet him at the house before they go to lunch.

"And that's my signal to bid you a good day." Merlin puts on his coat and Harry follows him out of the kitchen.

"Thank you, Merlin."

"For breakfast? Not necessary."

"No, for looking out for me. For being such a good friend." Harry pulls Merlin into a tight hug.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Stop being such a maudlin cunt and let go of me."


	5. Chapter 5

"What happened to you yesterday? Did you go for an audition after Merlin left?" Roxy drops into the seat across from him.

Eggsy looks at his best mate and finds her smile a bit smug for this hour of the morning. "I'm curious, Rox. How did Merlin know that King has been screwing me over? He's a little too high in the stratosphere to take notice of some insignificant RADA graduate. Even if he's got ears in King's office. I'm not a subject of interest for the head of the most exclusive talent management agency in London."

"You are if I say you are, Egg-boy."

"Rox?"

Roxy shrugs. "I may have been getting really angry that the best and the most talented actor in my class is getting shut out because some old, classist, homophobic bastard feels it's his right to gate-keep the industry. I may have paid a visit to Merlin and mentioned that King has been fucking you over, and that I'd be very appreciative if he'd find a way to fix it."

Eggsy thinks he should be angry. "Why didn't you say anything to me about King before? Maybe I could have done something myself."

"Done what? Gone to his office and accused him of tanking you? You had no proof and he has records of all the auditions he's sent you on. Chester's a powerful man in an industry where it's all more about the connections and less about talent, especially when you're getting started. You're my best friend, Eggsy. You never, ever sucked up to me when you found out who my uncles were. You never asked for any favors or introductions. I know that MacLeish, Morton and Spenser made an offer when you graduated, but you turned it down."

"I didn't want it to interfere with our friendship, Rox. What if things didn't work out? You're too important to me."

"See? You have no sense of self-preservation."

Eggsy buries his face in a mug of coffee.

"So, did you sign with Merlin yesterday?"

"Yeah. Have a full year of representation."

"Excellent!" Roxy fist-pumps and bags her elbow into the table, sending the breakfast stuff flying.

They both scramble to get it cleaned up, but Roxy doesn't let the subject drop. "And did he send you on an audition?"

"Kind of." Eggsy is pretty certain that Roxy won't like what he will be doing for the next few months.

"Kind of?"

Eggsy rubs the back of his neck. "Merlin needed a favor from me in exchange. Wanted me to meet another client of his, just to chat."

Roxy's eyes narrow. "Just to chat? Like with that City banker you were going to sugar for?"

Eggsy wants to tell Roxy everything, but he can't. Not yet. Merlin _might_ have his head for that. Even though Roxy's a client of MacLeish, Morton and Spenser, she still isn't privy to other client's business. So all he says is, "Just to chat. Was home and in my own bed – alone – a little after midnight."

Roxy stares at him and Eggsy feels the power of her gaze. She could always read him like a script. But he's not going to cave. Harry's too important.

His mobile buzzes with an incoming text and Eggsy has to smile. _Speak of the devil..._ It's Harry and he wants to meet at the house before going to the tailor. Eggsy can definitely do that.

"Is that your new sugar daddy?" Roxy's tone is unexpectedly harsh.

"Rox, come on."

"Did Merlin pimp you out?"

"Hell no!" Eggsy might have had his concerns about that before meeting Harry, but they hadn't lasted more than a few seconds after Harry had let him in the house. Harry had been just as awkward and diffident to their meeting as Eggsy had been. "It's a role, and it's cool, all right? Nothing to worry about."

"Hmm. I wanted Merlin to help you get a foothold in the business, not get a leg over on you."

"Rox, it's fine. Really. Give me a few days and I'll tell you everything."

"I'll hold you too that, Egg-boy."

Eggsy gets up and takes care of the breakfast dishes before heading into his bedroom. He's going to Harry's posh tailor today, so that means he's got to dress the part. He can wear the trousers from yesterday and miracle of miracles, there's a clean shirt in his closet, still in the dry cleaner's bag. His one necktie is shite, though. He'd worn it once, for graduation, and spilled something on it. It's not salvageable and Eggsy balls it up and tosses in the waste bin, but not before idly thinking about bringing it as a gift for Mr. Pickle.

A half-hour later, he's at Harry's, ringing the doorbell. Harry flings open the door, his face wreathed in smiles.

"Do come in."

Eggsy barely gets over the threshold before he's attacked by Mr. Pickle. Well, attacked isn't the right word. More like _enthusiastically greeted_ , given how the little beast is dancing on his hind legs and yipping at Eggsy for attention.

"Pickle, now remember that you are supposed to be a gentleman."

That seems to do the trick. Pickle sits down and quivers with barely restrained delight. Eggsy takes off his gifted leather jacket and goes down on one knee to give the dog a proper greeting. 

"While I'm never one to discourage anyone from giving Pickle all of the affection in the world, I must remind you that we do have an appointment at the tailor and it's not quite the thing to show up with your trousers coated in dog hair."

Eggsy looks up at Harry and sees no judgment or admonishment in his expression, just approval and a slight bit of regret. So Eggsy gets to his feet and instead of brushing his hands against his trousers, he excuses himself and heads to the powder room. The original Mr. Pickle gives him the stinkeye as Eggsy washes up.

Harry's still standing when Eggsy returns. "Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize, my boy. Now follow me." Harry heads up the stairs and Eggsy does, too.

He's more than a bit puzzled when Harry leads him into a bedroom and it looks like it's Harry's own.

"Excuse me?" Eggsy lingers in the doorway.

Harry huffs out a bit of an annoyed sigh. "Don't just stand there, come in."

Well, at least Harry sounds all business-like. 

Eggsy steps into the rooms, but just barely. "What's going on?"

"It has occurred to me that you've never been to a tailor."

"I've been fitted for costumes."

"Not the same thing. Getting fitted for bespoke menswear requires far more measurements than a costume, at least one for a school production where the costume will need to be repurposed a hundred times before it reaches the end of its useful life. A good first visit to a bespoke tailor means you'll need to strip down to your shorts and vest so the tailor can get the most accurate measurements."

Eggsy nods. "Makes sense."

"So, strip."

"Huh?"

"Take off your outerwear."

" _You're_ going to measure me?"

"No, silly. I'm a playwright, not a tailor."

"Then why am I getting naked for you?" This is the oddest seduction Eggsy's every experienced.

"You're not getting naked. I just want to check the condition of your smallclothes."

"Smallclothes?"

Harry makes an annoyed face. "Your … underwear."

"I know what smallclothes are. Just had never heard anyone use the word – at least not outside of an Aphra Behn play. And my shorts are clean, you don't need to check them."

"I'm sure they are clean, but are they presentable? I don't want you to be embarrassed."

Eggsy hadn't considered that. "I guess I'm just going to have to be embarrassed, because I haven't replaced my … smallclothes in years." His cheeks flame; Eggsy actually can't remember the last time he'd bought new shorts. Maybe the year he started at RADA, he'd used some of his stipend and got a dozen sets at Primark.

Harry hands him something – a vest and a pair of shorts. "Put those on. There's no need to be embarrassed."

At that, Harry leaves and shuts the door behind him. Eggsy wants to …

What? Stalk out in a fit of high dudgeon because his underwear isn't up to snuff? Because Harry doesn't want him to feel ashamed in front of a possibly judgmental stranger?

Eggsy looks at the underwear Harry give him. They aren't brand new – the fabric is a lovely, rich cotton that still has a supple springiness, but it's soft, like it's been through the wash a few times. Eggsy shivers. It's one thing to wear a leather jacket that's been hanging in the closet for years. It's something else to put on another man's shorts. It's an act that's almost as intimate as sleeping in the same bed.

As he puts them on, Eggsy deliberately ignores the label because he knows that they're some unbearably posh and expensive brand. Everything about Harry Hart screams posh and expensive. Eggsy puts his trousers and shirt back on and he has to admit there is something special about the posh underwear, because he feels at least five inches taller. Or maybe it's because he's wearing the same shorts that have cradled Harry Hart's junk.

He finds Harry in the living room, the picture of British elegance as he sits in a wing chair, legs crossed, his hair and face illuminated by the early afternoon sunlight that streaks through the curtain cracks. Eggsy must have made a sound, because Harry looks up and smiles. "All set? Everything fit?"

The part of Eggsy that's still a mischief-loving seven-year-old wants to drop trou and show off the borrowed shorts. "All good, ta." He corrects the estuary slang he occasionally slips back into, "Thanks. Wouldn't want to embarrass you with my worn-out underthings."

"Oh, I'm almost impossible to embarrass, my dear boy. I just don't want _you_ to be embarrassed."

Eggsy feels such a rush of affection that it's almost impossible to contain. "You're aces, Harry."

The walk to Savile Row isn't all that far, and as the wealthy Kensington neighborhood changes to an equally posh but more commercial Mayfair, Eggsy catches a glimpse of them reflected in the shop windows. They don't make a bad looking pair. Not your usual flavor, mind you; tall and distinguished in a cashmere walking coat and carrying an umbrella, accompanied by short and scrappy in a motorcycle jacket.

Harry's tailor, Kingsman, is the epitome of posh, and Eggsy feels the beginning of strop coming on. He hangs back like a dog not wanting to cross a puddle.

"Everything all right?" Harry is concerned. "I'd say, there's nothing to be afraid of, but you don't strike me as a man who's afraid of anything."

"I don't think your tailors are going to be too happy putting their wares on my back. This is really a place for the silver suppository set."

"Silver suppository? That's a new one."

"People like you, born with a silver spoon up their arse." As soon as the words leave Eggsy's mouth he's ashamed. Harry's done nothing to earn that insult. "Sorry."

"No, don't be. I understand. I want this to be a fun experience, something you'll remember for a long time. Remember fondly, I mean." Harry gives him a half-smile. "I guess I can find another tailor, but I'll have you know that Kingsman is a very democratic shop. They've clothed actors and rock stars and princes and lots of very ordinary people. I think Sir Elton had his wedding suit made here."

Eggsy doesn't know if he can resist even the tiniest bit of a connection to Elton John. "They won't look down on me because I'm from the estates?"

"Eggsy, dearest, _dearest_ Eggsy, they only would look down on you if you wore gray underwear with holes in it. Or that horrible jacket that Pickle has claimed as his own. If they look at you with even the slightest bit snobbish intent, I will make it clear that I'll be taking my custom elsewhere. And I'm not without influence in certain circles."

Eggsy lets out a deep breath. "All right, let's do this."

Harry ushers him into the shop before Eggsy can change his mind. There's definitely a museum quality to the place, with the dark wood paneling and the mannequins and the carefully displayed bolts of fabric. An elderly gentleman in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat approaches, greeting Harry by name. 

Harry is smooth as polished marble as he makes the introduction. "Andrew, this is my companion, Eggsy Unwin. He'll be accompanying me to several events this season, and likely through the spring and summer. He'll need an appropriate wardrobe. Several suits, a winter tuxedo and perhaps another for summer, plus white tie for the Met gala and similar events."

Eggsy blinks. Scotland Yard has white tie affairs to raise money? But Eggsy keeps his questions to himself; it wouldn't do for him to look like an ignorant chav, even if Kingsman Tailors is supposed to be _democratic_. Rich people can be stupid, but not about shit like this.

Thankfully, Harry notices Eggsy's confusion and after Andrew shows them into Fitting Room Three, Harry clarifies. "The Met is the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, not Scotland Yard. The Costume Institute Benefit is one of the biggest social events on either side of the Atlantic for those in the entertainment industry."

Eggsy nods, feeling a bit like an idiot. "I think I know that, actually. Just more accustom to thinking of the Met as the Feds, the rozzers, you know?"

"I've been attending every year for the last decade. You'll be with me for the next one, I hope."

Eggsy stifles the leap in his heart, Harry's thinking well into the future. "I'd like that."

A tap on the door interrupt, and Harry responds. "Just another minute, please."

Eggsy takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes, mentally running through some of the most basic pre-performance exercises. _You can do this, you can do this. It's just another role._

Harry puts a hand on Eggsy's wrist. "There's nothing to be afraid of. And I'm here. Remember what I told you, if they do anything to make you feel uncomfortable, or in an way less than the extraordinary man that you are, we'll leave."

"I'm being ridiculous, ain't I? I'm getting fitted for some really nice clothes, not trying out for the lead in a Harry Hart play."

Harry lets out a little snort of laughter. "Of the two, this is more important in the long run."

"Nah. Not in the least." But Eggsy seems to have relocated his confidence. "Let's do this." He quickly unbuttons his shirt, slips out of his shoes, takes off his trousers and hands them to Harry to place out of the way. Both of them happen to look down at the same time and see the hole in Eggsy's left sock, right over the big toe.

Harry doesn't say anything. He just takes off his shoes and then his socks – which have freaking sock garters – and gives them to Eggsy. Thankfully, Eggsy had once performed in a production of _Marat/Sade_ , where everyone had worn old-fashioned skivvies, so he knows what to do with them. Harry dons Eggsy's socks, then his puts his shoes back on, and opens the fitting room door to admit Andrew and an assistant, carrying an armful of fabric swatches.

The measurement process is, as Harry had said, quite a bit more thorough than what Eggsy had experienced in the costume department. Andrew, however, is experienced and professional and the whole process takes a little more than ten minutes, from collar to inseam before he can put his clothes back on. 

Eggsy mostly tunes out the conversation between Harry and Andrew about styles in favor of fingering the fabric swatches. 

"What do you like?"

Eggsy's drawn to a bright orange velvet, but he doesn't think it'll be appropriate so he says nothing. There are other fabrics he likes, too, and with the guidance of both Andrew and Harry, he selects about a half-dozen options for a suit, plus an almost-black for a tuxedo and the perfect black for the super-formal evening wear.

"I trust you to pick what you think is best for the suit, all right? I really don't have a clue what's appropriate."

"All of these are fine, Eggsy."

"All?"

"You'll need a complete wardrobe, my dear. Four suits, at the very least, six will be better. We'll head over to a shop I patronize on Jermyn Street for some more basic furnishings, and of course, Liberty's, to add a touch of the unique."

Eggsy thinks about his comment to Harry last night, about them not being Edward and Vivian, but it seems that that's exactly who they are. He's going to have to do everything to make sure that Harry gets his money's worth.

By the time they are finished with shopping at Liberty's, Eggsy's exhausted. This is worse than rehearsals the week before a production opens. Worse than finals week for his academic course load. He's ready to drop and if Harry wants to hit one more store, Eggsy's going to sit down in the middle of Regent's Street and have a temper tantrum that will put the ones his baby sister throws to shame.

"Come along, Eggsy." Harry marches down the crowded street, "we have a few more stops to make."

"No." Eggsy's not setting foot in another shop today.

"No?"

"No. I'm beat. It's almost seven and we had lunch hours ago. I know you enjoy doing this shopping stuff, but I feel like I've just performed the entirety of Hamlet, every character and every word, twice over."

Harry doesn't say anything and Eggsy wonders if he's just made a strategic mistake. But apparently not. Harry steps into the street, lifts up his umbrella, and a black cab sails to a stop right in front of them.

"After you, Eggsy." Harry gestures for him to get into the cab.

Eggsy leans back in the seat as Harry joins him and gives the cab driver the Stanhope Mews address. The cab pulls away from the curb and immediately gets stuck in traffic.

Harry sighs and asks, "What would you like for supper? I'll order something for delivery."

Eggsy likes how Harry just presumes that they'll be spending the evening together. "Anything, I don't care."

"How spicy do you like your Thai food?"

"Um, not much for eating fire, so kind of mild?"

Eggsy listens as Harry orders a delivery from a local Thai restaurant, and he's almost asleep when the cab pulls up in from of Harry's house.

Pickle gives them an enthusiastic greeting and Harry tells Eggsy to go relax. "Dinner will be about a half-hour, so why don't you rest for a bit."

"Sounds aces." Eggsy heads into the living room and drops onto the couch. It's too much of an effort to keep his eyes open, but he does manage to say thank you when Harry drapes an afghan over him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	6. Chapter 6

Harry watches Eggsy make his way towards their table, enjoying how so many eyes, male and female, are watching the young man. It's a bit clichéd, but poetry in motion is a good description of how Eggsy moves, smoothly, confidently, focused on his destination. On Harry.

Harry feels an unwarranted amount of pride in Eggsy. Yes, he's responsible for the suit that adorns that rather perfect body, he might have given Eggsy some pointers on footwear, he might have even taken Eggsy to his favorite spot on Bond Street and had a complete suite of grooming products make for him after a spa day and a haircut, but that's just the shell. As Harry's learned over the last few weeks, Eggsy Unwin is surprisingly perfect, even without the external trappings of a gentleman.

Harry gets to his feet and reaches for Eggsy, giving him a somewhat more than comradely hug. Eggsy one-ups him, brushing his lips against Harry's and letting his hand drift under the vent on Harry's suit jacket to give his butt a discreet squeeze.

Harry whispers, "You little shit" before letting Eggsy go. 

As they sit down, Eggsy give him a smile that wouldn't be out of place on a portrait of a saint. "Congratulations, Harry. You're thrilled, I bet."

"You've gotten the news, then."

"Of course. Got the list of nominees on my phone a few hours ago. Did you book our table for today because you wanted to preen in public?"

"You've only known me for a few short weeks, and yet you see me so very clearly."

"You were that sure the Academy was going to nominate you for _Pushing Moonbeams_?"

"Actually, I have had a table booked here for the next-to-last luncheon seating on announcement day for several decades, whether I'm in contention or not. It pays to be seen, and to give congratulations or commiseration as needed. Usually Merlin joins me, but I thought you'd like to see how things really happen."

Eggsy nods, looking immensely pleased. "Yeah, I would. Of course, being a Brit, the BAFTAs are a big deal, but come on, Academy Awards? Nothing tops that."

"No, nothing does." Harry can't help it if he sounds a little smug.

"You have three. For _Salamander_ , for _The White Queen_ , and for _Old Ghosts_."

"And if I'm lucky, in six weeks, I'll have five."

"I don't think anyone's been nominated for an acting award and a writing award in the same year."

Harry just shrugs. "What can I say."

"You can say you're a talented bastard and preen all you want."

Harry lets himself float a bit on Eggsy's admiration. "I am a talented bastard. But it's unlikely that I'll win an acting award as well as a writing award in the same year. That never happens with the Oscars."

Eggsy once again effortlessly displays his knowledge of entertainment history. "It used to be that if you were nominated for a supporting and a starring role, you won the supporting actor award. But Sigourney Weaver lost in Eighty-Eight for _Gorillas in the Mist_ and _Working Girl_ , but now it's a crapshoot. Three of the last six double nominees have won for the principle acting award."

Harry offers the standard line. "I'm just happy to have been nominated."

"Bull. You want to win and you want to win very badly."

"Perhaps." Harry takes a sip of water. "I guess you saw who hasn't been nominated."

Eggsy's laugh could be considered cruel under different circumstances, but he says with a surprising amount of heat, "Well, even as good as the material is, Charlie Hesketh will never be more than a well-connected, low-class, less-than-middlingly talented hack."

"And tell me, Eggsy, how do you really feel?"

Eggsy doesn't get the chance as a waiter comes over with menus and offers to recite the day's special. The offering is fairly standard, and Harry suggests either the Dover sole or the scallops, which are tolerable but nothing special. People don't dine at Le Meridian for the food, especially on nomination afternoon. 

"Champagne?"

Eggsy nods, and his delight in the moment overtakes the masque of a jaded industry professional. "Sounds aces."

Harry asks for the Veuve-Clicquot 2008. It's not an extravagant choice, but still a worthy one. They'll celebrate with the more storied 1999 vintage if Harry wins the Best Supporting Actor BAFTA. He won't think so far ahead to the Oscars.

Eggsy comments, not so idly, "Saw a few familiar faces on the way in. Passed by Victoria Winslow on my way to your table" 

"Did you want to stop and ask for a selfie?"

"Nah, not so rude as that. Although it would be nice pick her brain about what it's like to work both in the West End and Hollywood."

"Just pick her brain? She's really terribly attractive." Harry has known Victoria since his earliest days as a West End darling. He hopes she makes it over to their table; she'll be delighted to educate an up and coming young actor, especially one as handsome and as eager to learn as Eggsy.

"Oi, you know that I'm not really one for the birds. But if I was, I'd go for that, big time. She's utterly gorgeous." Eggsy wipes his lips and completely fails to hide the furious blush on his cheeks.

Harry waits for Eggsy to take a sip of water before he so-casually says, "Victoria is the only woman I successfully have had sex with."

Eggsy doesn't spit out the water and Harry mentally gives his boy a standing ovation for his control. He can see Eggsy struggle not to ask the question that Harry's left open and he's more than a tad disappointed when Eggsy just pats his lips with a napkin and mentions how much he enjoyed the event last night.

"You looked rather lovely in your tuxedo, my dear."

"It felt pretty bitchin', Harry. Especially showing up for my alma mater."

"I thought you'd like that for your first red carpet event."

"Liked being your arm candy, too."

Harry lets out a tiny sigh; he really hates being reminded that this is just a role for Eggsy. But Eggsy's presence last night served its purpose, and then some. "Not all society reporters are as dumb as the one we encountered last night."

"Don't think dumb's the word. Ignorant, really. How could she _not_ know who you are? How does a gossip reporter get sent on an assignment and not know anything about the people they are talking to?"

"She knew my name, and that I've been nominated for a few BAFTAs." Harry shrugs. "She probably had a list of attendees and archive photos and was snagging anyone she could for a pose and a quotable line."

"Well, she certainly got more than one from you."

Last night's processional in front of Claridges had been something of a fiasco. Harry had enjoyed walking the red carpet with Eggsy on his arm, but when they'd stopped to pose for photos, the young reporter in question had suggested that maybe Eggsy should step aside and let photographer capture them in solo shots. Harry had asked why, and the reporter – without even making certain her microphone was off and that no one else had been in earshot – had said, "Well, we wouldn't want our readers to make … assumptions."

Harry knew where she was going, and he had no intention of being nice about it. "What kind of assumptions."

"Well, that you're in a homosexual relationship. Even if you are – and that's perfectly fine – our readers don't like to know those kind of things."

Harry hadn't hesitated to let fly with both barrels. "My dear, the preferred term is 'gay' and I most certainly am gay. I've been publicly and professionally gay my entire life. I've written a dozen plays about being gay. I've written movies about being gay. I've received some of the highest accolades in this industry for my work about being gay. I am proud to be gay and I am even more proud to have such a loving and beautiful partner as Eggsy Unwin accompanying me here, tonight. If you wish to have a photograph of me in your rather horrid little magazine, you will take it with me standing next to Eggsy and holding his hand. If that is not to your liking, then just move along."

Harry doesn't have much issue with the paparazzi or the gossip press; he'd actively courted them in the early days of his career, but he does despise ignorance and homophobia, wherever it comes from and had rather relished last night's takedown. 

Eggsy, who had clung to his arm through that entire exchange, had enjoyed it too. Word of the encounter had made its way through the gathering and several people had asked Eggsy about it during the event, including a few who had passed his comments onto the gutter press. "Merlin called me this morning, wanted to let me know that we made the gossip pages on all the tabloids. Says I'll need to engage a publicist if this gets more airplay."

"I've already spoken to mine, and she'll work with you to help manage this. There should be nothing to worry about, I'm not really a major celebrity, it's just that everything gets a little crazy during awards season. We'll probably have to do a few interviews for the glossies. It's better to feed the wolves before they get too hungry."

"I told my mum what's happened, but she don't think that they'll be too interested in her in New Zealand."

Harry's quick to reassure Eggsy, "If they track her down in Christchurch, let me know and I'll have Merlin find someone to handle it."

Before their meal arrives, several celebrities who know Harry stop at their table to congratulate him on the Oscar nominations, wish him luck on the BAFTAs, and to get an introduction to the young man who's at the center of a slightly minor celebrity news cycle. Eggsy is perfectly polite, if a bit starry-eyed, as he gets peppered with the usual questions – where did they meet (Merlin had introduced them), how long have they been together (not long enough), what are Eggsy's current projects (he's being very careful about selecting his first role), and how does he like being associated with such a notorious gay figure (Eggsy looks at Harry, raises an eyebrow and asks, "Notorious? That reporter last night didn't even know you were gay." Harry just smiles and shrugs). 

The interruptions are a little less frequent once their meal arrives, but pick up as they are enjoying espresso and a fruit and cheese plate. Harry smiles and gets to his feet as an old and dear friend approaches. "Victoria, darling."

"Harry, my love. You are looking as splendid as ever." 

Victoria is one of the few people that Harry's comfortable enough to fully let his guard down with. It comes from a lifelong friendship and knowing too many of the other's secrets. Like he'd told Eggsy, Victoria's the only woman he's successfully had sex with, but the truth is, they had both been slightly drunk on an extremely superior bottle of Pinot Noir and she'd been pegging him with her favorite fake dick. He'd come twice and told her never to do that to him again.

She'd laughed and promised not to, even if he begged as sweetly as he had earlier that night.

In the months following the encounter, Harry had turned that encounter into a one-act play, _Big Dipper_ ; an effort that has yet to see the light of day. He briefly wonders if it could be updated and produced, with Eggsy in the starring role. 

"You have the absolute strangest look on your face, Harry Hart." Victoria pinches his chin like a fond parent.

"It's nothing."

"Hmmm." She gives him a look that have made men quake in their shoes but says nothing else as she turns her attention to Eggsy and Harry makes the introductions. 

"And you are the young man at the center of last night's hysterics at Claridges." 

Eggsy is almost too smooth as he replies, "I'd hate to contradict such a beautiful and talented woman, but I think it had been just a minor contretemps. Harry corrected the reporter in his own eloquent and gentlemanly way and we moved on."

Victoria laughs, the chuckle that has always sent a frisson through him, and she says, "He certainly was most gentlemanly. If it had been me, I'd have told the bitch to get stuffed."

"Victoria, now, now, that's not you." Harry pulls out a chair and she sits down.

"Maybe once, when I needed the press. Now, I find I don't care what they think of me." Victoria pins Eggsy with hard stare and quirked smile. "What is it that the young people say today? I give zero fucks."

Eggsy gives a shy glance at Victoria. "That's the phrase, Ms. Winslow." 

"Victoria, please. No need to be so formal."

Harry feels compelled to tell her, "We'd been talking about you earlier. Eggsy said he'd like to pick your brain."

Eggsy shakes his head. "Harry, please, it's not necessary."

"Now you've made me curious. Do you want to know about Harry and me?"

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't presume to be so rude." 

Harry is, if possible, even more impressed. If this were another kind of relationship, he'd hustle Eggsy home and have his way with the boy.

"So, what do you want to pick my brain about?"

"First, can I tell you that I'm a huge fan. I'm sure you hear it all the time, but you're magnificent." Eggsy comes across as genuinely worshipful, which is guaranteed to appeal to Victoria.

It does. She catches Harry's eye and says, _sotto voce_ , "Darling, this one is worth keeping."

"I plan on it."

Victoria turns her attention back to Eggsy, and patiently answers his questions about how she's been able to work in theatre, television and the movies on two continents.

Harry understand how Eggsy feels, he'd once been similarly enthralled by Victoria. 

"Can I tell you what my favorite performance of yours is?"

"Of course, my dear."

Harry places a mental bet, and he wins when Eggsy says, "Morgana, in _Young Queers_."

"Eggsy, darling, you weren't born when I performed in that play."

"I've seen you in the role. There's a video of one of the performances, it's archived at RADA. I watched it more times that I can count."

Victoria says to Harry, "I don't remember it being videotaped. That would have been a big deal back then, no tiny little pocket cameras like they have today."

"I had Merlin arrange it – it was just with handhelds from the wings, not really professional quality and I hadn't made an announcement to the cast. I just wanted an archive of the performance. When I donated the rights for student performances to RADA, I gave them the video, too. Kept a copy, but I don't have the equipment to play it anymore."

Eggsy is a bit too helpful when he volunteers, "It's digitized, now. I made a copy of it, and can send it to you if you want."

"That would be lovely. Harry has my particulars, and while I would really love to stay and chat, I do have an appointment this afternoon. Perhaps we can have dinner next week?" 

Harry likes how she's asking Eggsy, not him.

Eggsy nods and says, "I'll have to check, but I think I'm free on Monday evening."

Harry knows for a fact that they are both free on Monday.

"That sounds perfect." Victoria departs, leaving a faint aura of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.

Unfortunately, the delight of Victoria Winslow is replaced by the dour presence of Charlie Hesketh and his preference for far too much Axe body spray.

All he says, standing there like some sullen, malodorous scarecrow, is, "Harry."

Harry catches Eggsy's eye and shakes his head. As much as he would love to take Charlie down, he doesn't want a scene. There are too many people around who wouldn't hesitate to share any unpleasantness with the gutter press. "Good afternoon, Charlie."

Charlie doesn't say anything, he just stands there, glaring at Harry, and then at Eggsy.

"What can we do for you, Chuckie?" Eggsy leans back in his chair, the picture of louche contentment.

"It's _Charles_. And do I know you?"

"You should. We were at school together."

Charlie looks confused, which is exceedingly unattractive when he adds a sneer. "Don't think they let your type into Saint Andrews."

"Nah, didn't go to there. But it ain't surprising that you don't remember your stint at RADA since you spent most of it pretty trashed. I guess you could say you _wasted_ your time there." 

"You don't know what you're talking about, you little turd."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. You practically fucked up the major group project of our first year when you'd been cast as Don John in _Much Ado_. You didn't show up for half the rehearsals and were stoned for the ones you did. When the cast complained, you threw a hissy fit and stormed out, screaming that you were 'too good' for the likes of us plebs." 

Charlie huffs out a laugh. "Oh yeah, I remember slumming it for a while. Moved onto better things. I'm up for a BAFTA and you're what, peddling your ass?" Charlie looks over at Harry and smirks. "Except how does that work with the fairy prince here?"

Harry sighs and supposes that since Charlie's not going to exercise any good sense at all and move along without creating a scene, he might as well enjoy taking the twunt, as Merlin calls him, down a few. "Charlie, you still have no manners."

Charlie ignores him for what he thinks will be an easier target. "I remember you now, Unwin. I guess you've gone from flipping burgers at the Winchester Service Station to servicing Winchester alumni." Charlie brays, far too enamored of his wit.

Eggsy looks at Charlie from head to toe. There's nothing overtly dismissive in his gaze, but the contempt is obvious. Even more so when he says, "Manners maketh man. I guess they never taught you that in your posh school. Do you know what that means?"

Harry had shared that aphorism with Eggsy the evening after their first visit to Kingsman. Eggsy had been rather down on himself, believing that he was too far below Harry for people to believe they'd be romantically involved. Harry had chided him with the expression, then explained that it's not birth or wealth that gives a man true status, it's how he behaves towards others. As long as Eggsy treats others with kindness and courtesy, there would be no question that he'd be seen as Harry's social inferior. 

This is a lesson that Charlie has never learned. "You're just lower-class shit, Unwin, no matter how good your tailoring is."

Harry decides enough is enough. "One might say the same thing about you, Charlie. And your own tailoring leaves way too much to be desired. There comes a time to put away the Comme de Garçons and grow up."

"As insults go, old man, it's not a very good one."

"I wasn't trying to be insulting, Charlie. Just pointing out a fact that your manners are as poor as your fashion sense. The sad thing is that even if you grow up and put on big-boy clothes, you'll never be a gentleman."

"You're a real piece of work, Harry, talking about matters and gentlemanly behavior. You don't have a leg to stand on; I see you're still sniffing after boys young enough to be your own kid."

Harry really can't believe he'd once been taken in by this cretin. "Charlie, your insults would be more effective if you hadn't been the one to make the moves on me."

Charlie is weirdly outraged, "Well, it's not like you had to take me up on the offer!"

Harry tries hard not to roll his eyes. "Well, when you manage to get into my hotel room and wait for me on the bed, naked and aroused, what am I supposed to do? Tell you that I've given up sex for Lent, when it's July and I'm not even Catholic?"

Eggsy chuckles. "That's a good one, Harry. You should be a writer, or something."

Harry can't help himself and stares at Charlie as he says, "Maybe after the BAFTAs? Don't want to give up my acting career so soon."

Eggsy picks up the ball and runs with it. "And the Academy Awards. You've got an Oscar nod there, too."

"Actually, two nominations." If Harry's going to rub Charlie's nose in it, there's no need to hold back. "I believe our unwelcome visitor has been rather snubbed by the Academy."

"Maybe because his uncle doesn't have any influence with the Americans? Could that explain it?"

"Perhaps." Harry adores just how quick Eggsy is, now sharp his wit is, how easily he holds his own. But then, Charlie Hesketh will always be an inferior opponent.

"You're a has-been writer and a wannabe actor, Harry."

Eggsy doesn't give Harry a chance to reply, stepping in with his own brand of cutting wit, "Seriously, that's the best you've got, Chuckles? Harry's gotten more awards as a writer than you'll ever have good roles. And he's been in three movies, been nominated for awards for two of them. I think you need to look up the definitions of both 'has-been' and 'wannabe', because it seems that your fancy public school education was really lacking in the basics."

"How much is he paying to have you fuck him, Eggy? Because there isn't enough money in the world to get me to stick my prick into his flabby ass again. Or is he promising to give you a few extra lines in a movie yet to be produced?"

Harry is putting an end to this. "That's enough, Charlie. Up to now, I've tolerated your bad manners because I've found them amusing. You are no longer amusing. Please go."

Charlie, naturally, doesn't move. "I'll leave when I'm damn good and ready."

Eggsy shakes his head in not-so-mock disgust. "That's the problem with piss-poor actors, they never know when the scene is over."

"Or that they aren't in the scene to begin with." Harry's about to go hunt down the waiter to get their tab, but he catches the eye of George, the maitre d', who comes over with gratifying alacrity. 

"Mr. Hart, is there a problem?"

"We're trying to make an exit, but there's something unwanted in the way."

George looks at Charlie and frowns. "Mr. Hesketh, I can't have you bothering other patrons, and I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Fine, but this isn't the end of it." Charlie stalks away and Harry scrubs at his face. He's not embarrassed for himself, he's just pissed off that Eggsy has gotten caught in the blowback.

George makes a few soothing noises about the meal being on the house, as consideration for not getting Charlie out sooner. Harry won't hear of that, assuring the man that Charlie's bad behavior isn't his fault and he shouldn't be penalized for it.

Harry settles the bill and offers Eggsy his arm as they head out to the street. "Where to now?"

"Dunno. Want to go back to yours?" In contrast to his confidence during the confrontation with Charlie, Eggsy sounds rather diffident.

"Yes, I think that will be a good idea." Harry hails a passing cab and they manage to get back to Stanhope Mews in a relatively short time.

"Is everything all right, darling?" The endearment comes a little too naturally.

"Yeah." Eggsy sighs and makes a face. "Charlie's such a fucking twat. Hate that he's ever been in your life."

Harry can't quite squelch the joy that this little bit of jealous incites. "He's like that line from Macbeth, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Eggsy laughs, "And I guess I should be grateful for Charlie, would have never me you without him."

That brings Harry back to earth, but not completely. "Perhaps, or perhaps we might have met sooner."

"How's that possible?"

"Remember, I told you I'd seen your performance of _Young Queers_? I would have introduced myself had Charlie not interrupted me with an untimely text."

"Booty call?"

"Yes." Harry grimaces, more than slightly abashed. " I remember thinking that it might be time to mount a new production of the play, and that I even had my lead."

Eggsy looks at him, jaw dropped and eyes wide, as if he can't believe what he's hearing.

"So, it seems that my libido has interfered in your professional advancement."

Eggsy ignores Harry's apology and focuses on what really matters to him. "You're shitting me. You'd thought about casting me as Galahad for real?"

"I shit you not, Eggsy. I'd thought about it in the moment, then I forgot. I had to go back and do some re-writes on _Pushing Moonbeams_ , then Charlie made his exit from my life, and while I thought I was heartbroken instead of simply humiliated, I wrote a few short plays, did an adaption of _Gladiator Soul_ for film, and acted in _Three-Chord Trick_."

Eggsy hugs him. "Whatever happens to me, whether I ever have an acting career, knowing that you once actually thought I was worthy of playing Galahad on the big stage is better than anything."

"I was going to tell you this afternoon, but we'd gotten a little distracted, I've asked Merlin to start looking for backers for a revival of _Young Queers_. The Donmar Warehouse has expressed interest for a limited run, but if that doesn't come through, we'll look into one of the West End houses. The Garrick is one of my favorite theatres."

"That's where _Young Queers_ premiered in eighty-seven." Awestruck is a good look on Eggsy.

"So, this is something you'd be interested in?"

"Yes, Harry!"

"It may take a while to get things going," Harry cautions. "Might even be a year or more."

"Don't care. I told you, playing Galahad means more to me than anything."

"Seeing you do the role in a fully staged performance means a lot to me, too. I just wish I hadn't been thinking with my dick that day."

"Can't undo what's already happened." Eggsy flops down on the couch and cuddles with Mr. Pickle.

"No, you can only move forward." Harry moves over to the bar cart and mixes a pitcher of martinis. "So, I'll tell Merlin that you're interested and to move forward with the plans. Once we can pin down the venue, we'll feed it to the press."

"Won't it be kind of weird, you putting on a play and casting your romantic partner as the lead?"

Harry, long experienced in the ways of the entertainment world, does his best to sooth Eggsy's concern. "Not in the least. It's actually a very charming narrative. I saw you at RADA, Merlin introduced us a while later, and our artistic and personal lives just clicked. But this will tie us together for a while, not just for awards season."

Eggsy looks at Harry with quite a bit of delight. "Don't see a problem with that. Do you?"

"Not in the least."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Roxy confronts Eggsy as he's having breakfast. She drops down into the chair across from him and steals his bowl of cereal. "I can't believe you let me find out from the fucking Sun that you're sugaring for Harry Hart."

"Not sugaring. Dating." Eggsy grabs the bowl back, sloshing milk across the table.

"Dating? You're seeing a man more than twice your age and it's dating?" Roxy doesn't make a move to clean up the mess.

"Yeah, _dating_." Hoping that this will put an end to the conversation, Eggsy takes a mouthful of now mushy cereal, swallows and goes to dump the rest in the garbage. He grabs a towel and wipes away the spilled milk.

"He's buying you clothes, taking you to fancy parties – "

"Yeah, and most nights we spend at his house talking about everything under the sun. That's called dating, Rox. Not sugaring."

Roxy doesn't quite back down. "But it's not a _real_ relationship."

"Define 'real'."

"Like you're in love."

Eggsy sighs. "For someone who's supposed to be so progressive, you seem to be really eager to make this into something dirty. Don't have to be 'in love'" Eggsy makes finger-quotes around those words, "to have a real relationship."

"But you're doing this for money, for the stuff."

Eggsy looks at his best friend like she's just grown a second head. "Hell, no. I ain't taking a penny from Harry. The clothes are because we're going to red carpet events and parties, not because I want them. I don't want people to laugh at Harry and think he's dating some poor chav who don't know the difference between brogues and oxfords. Gotta look the part."

"But you got a contract with Merlin because you agreed to date Hart."

Eggsy shakes his head. "Nah, it was just to meet the man. And honestly, Rox, it ain't your business if I'm doing this for 'the stuff' or because I genuinely like Harry and I'm attracted to him."

"I'm just looking out for you."

"You're a good mate, Rox and I'm glad I've got someone like you to look after me. But I'm not some Victorian maiden, you know. Lost my virginity a long time ago. And even if Harry's paying me to be his arm candy, it ain't hurting me. Ain't hurting you. Ain't hurting anyone or anything."

"Fine, sue me for worrying about you." 

Eggsy feels like he's just not going to win this argument, if it even is an argument. "Do you feel guilty about introducing Merlin to me? He's the reason why I'm seeing Harry."

Roxy shrugs. "Sort of, I guess. If things go bad, I definitely will feel guilty."

"You're being so negative. How will things go bad?"

"What if Harry dumps you?"

"He won't."

"He could." 

Now it feels like he's four and arguing with Jamal at the playground about which superhero is better. "Trust me, Roxy. He's more worried about me walking away. Which I never will."

"Never? That's a long time. Are you in love with Harry Hart?"

Eggsy feels his cheeks flame and does his best to dodge the question, asking, "And if I was?"

"I don't know what to tell you, except that he's so much older than you. He's got leagues more experience with the world. I'm not trying to be mean, but it's hard to see why he'd want to date a guy half his age."

Eggsy really doesn't want to believe that Roxy is that naive. "About the age thing? Seriously?"

Roxy concedes the point, "All right, yeah. Young guys, older guys, I get it. But what about everything else? You hooking up with Harry Hart is a real Cinderella story. That doesn't happen in real life."

"I gotta disagree with you on that. I ain't a poor kid from the streets anymore – "

Roxy makes a face. "I'm not explaining myself too well. Cinderella wasn't a maid or a poor kid. She was born and raised in a wealthy household and only forced to work as a servant because her stepmother was a mean bitch. You're like Cinderella only because you've been kept down by Chester King."

"That means that Merlin's my fairy godmother." Eggsy can't help but snicker. It image of the intimidating Merlin MacLeish in a puffy gown and waving a sparkling wand is almost too much to bear.

Roxy blinks and Eggsy has to wonder if she's got the same image in her head now. But that's not it when she admits, "You know, I take everything back. You are a living Cinderella story. It's just hard to imagine Harry Hart as Prince Charming."

"Why not? He's gorgeous, got leagues more experience, knows everyone worth knowing, he's smart and funny and brilliant. I could go on, but you'd just roll your eyes at me."

"I'm trying very hard not to." Roxy sighs. "I'm still not going to stop worrying about you, but if I think of you and Harry has getting together as a blind date, then I guess I can be all right with it. That he's not your sugar daddy and you're not his sugar baby."

Eggsy really regrets telling Roxy about that, the way she's obsessing over it. But there's nothing he can do about it now. "Yeah, that's exactly it. We were set up by a mutual acquaintance."

Just when Eggsy thinks Roxy's done with him and this subject, she says, "I want to meet him." Her tone brooks no disagreement.

Eggsy can't think of any reason why he shouldn't introduce her to Harry, it's the normal way of things, to let the people you know meet each other. "Sounds like a good idea."

"And not some date to be named never."

"I'll arrange it." Maybe some time after the BAFTAs. That would be good.

But Roxy's still not letting go. "You'll arrange it now, Eggsy. Remember how you told me you'd tell me in a week about the guy Merlin had you meet? It's been two weeks and you never said a word. I'm guessing that you'd hoped I'd forget. I'm not letting you off of the hook so easily this time."

"You've been busy, Roxy. I've been busy. Both of us are barely around."

"Not an excuse."

"Cut me some slack, all right?" Eggsy rubs at the back of his neck. He doesn't want to be on the outs with Roxy, but he doesn't like having his hand forced, either. Except that there's really no reason not to make plans now. "Look, I'm going over to Harry's for lunch today, maybe you can come with me?"

Roxy stares at him, as if she thinks he's pulling a fast one. "Really. Today?"

Eggsy pulls out his phone and calls Harry, who prefers the old fashioned method of communication. "Any problem if I bring my best mate, Roxy, to lunch? She's dying to meet you." Harry tells him of course, of course, and Eggsy promises to be there by one and ends the call. "See? Simple as that. Just wear something smart. Harry might not judge you on your choice of apparel, but his dog, Mr. Pickle, certainly will."

Lunch goes well. Harry is, naturally, a charming host and Roxy, for her part, lets herself be charmed. Eggsy's slightly amused that it takes Pickle a few minutes to warm to Roxy – he sniffs at her like a suspicious dowager – but by coffee and dessert, he's dithering between the three of them for affection.

Roxy doesn't hesitate to share some mildly embarrassing stories of their time at RADA, when Eggsy had completely dropped the ball.

"So, we're performing _Barefoot in the Park_ , Eggsy's playing Paul, and the director had wanted a scene where Paul showers and puts on fresh clothes. The set had been designed so that you see Paul stripping down in the bathroom, getting into the shower, and before he comes out, he's going to wrap a towel around his waist. Well, guess who forgot to check the set to make sure the towel was where it was supposed to be? Your boyfriend, who had to scurry backwards through the set to avoid flashing his junk and gave the audience a rather splendid view of his backside."

Eggsy says, in his defense, "Well, the rest of the run did play to a packed house."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	7. Chapter 7

"Harry Hart, please come this way." A young woman in functional black directs him to an area with a BAFTA banner and a small stage and a microphone. She brushes a little powder on his nose and chin and cheeks to take away the shine, manipulates the awards he's holding so they're facing outward, and steps away.

_Time to face the world._

Harry's been through this before - the press scrum for the award recipients - and he's slightly surprised to see so many reporters and photographers waiting for a chance to question him. The questions are fairly standard: how it feels to be the recipient of a Fellowship award as well the two competitive awards (it's an honor to be recognized for a body of work that's still being built), what is it like to get an acting award when you're not really an actor? (well, the award for best supporting actor says otherwise), do you plan on continuing to act (if the right roles come my way), and the one question that Harry's been waiting for, 

"Who's Eggsy?"

Harry flashes a smile at the mass of reports, photographers and camera people. He doesn't have to gather his thoughts or think about what he wants to say. 

There'd been a second confrontation with Charlie last week, even more unpleasant that the one at Le Meridian. He and Eggsy had been dining with Victoria at The Greenhouse and once again, Charlie had encroached on them during a meal. As Charlie started to spew his venom, Victoria had crushed him like a bug and he took off.

Unfortunately, not so far as to leave the building, though. Between dinner and dessert, Harry had excused himself to the mens' room, and Charlie, apparently believing that to be some kind of signal, had followed him. Harry didn't too a very good job of de-escalating, giving into all the bitterness that Charlie had brought into his life. Charlie, for his part, had spouted some utter nonsense about Harry being a sexual predator and that if he wins the BAFTA, Charlie's going to turn his life into a living hell.

He hadn't said anything else and left Harry alone in the mens room to worry. The next morning, Harry had called Merlin, told him about Charlie's threat. Merlin had suggested that maybe Harry should make his relationship with Eggsy more public, and Harry had mentioned that he'd been a little disappointed that there had been no follow-up after his evisceration of that bone-headed reporter. The gossip pages had briefly focused on what Harry had said, not who he'd been with, and the tabloids had lost interest in the story, with the news cycle shifting over to the Oscar nominations the next day.

The most obvious way of making his relationship more public would be to do the equivalent of setting off a small nuclear bomb and mention Eggsy in his acceptance speech for the Fellowship award. Although Harry doesn't consider himself the least bit interesting to the gutter press anymore, he understands the value of a good love story.

And so, he did, thanking Merlin, the Academy, his family, and finally, Eggsy, "who inspires him every day to be better than his former self".

_"Who is Eggsy?_

Harry smiles because even the mention of Eggsy's name is enough to bring him happiness. "Eggsy is my partner. He is a remarkable man with remarkable talents, and I fully expect to see him on this platform holding his own awards one day soon."

After that extraordinary pronouncement, Harry steps down and makes his way through the throng, stopping to congratulate other award winners before finding the exit. Someone from the Academy takes Harry's statues, they'll need to have the plaques engraved and affixed; he'll get them back in a couple of weeks. He finally makes it out of the overheated press room and finds Merlin shepherding other clients through this crazed institution of the stars. Merlin doesn't say anything to Harry; he just tilts his head to the left, where Eggsy's leaning against the wall, looking like sin incarnate.

"Hey there, sailor. Looking for a good time?"

Harry laughs at the cheesy line, "Always." He reaches out and wraps and arm around Eggsy, comfortable in the public display of affection. While Harry's been out for his entire life, he's also been somewhat private about his personal life, for a variety of reasons, good and bad. He knows that part of this is a show to de-fang Charlie, but there's a part of him that wants this to be real, wants to have the right to claim Eggsy as his own forever.

"We going to the afterparties?"

"It's customary for the awardees to show up at one or two. I usually spend about an hour at the dinner at the Grosvenor, maybe the one at Soho House if the weather is cooperating, then head home for a bath, a cuddle with Pickle, and then my own bed."

"That sounds perfect. I'm not exactly a party animal, myself."

That had been something that Harry had immediately noticed about Eggsy. He's frequently offered to go out, to go to the clubs that a young man like Eggsy must enjoy, only to have Eggsy say he'd rather spend the evening in, leaving Harry to his writing while he reads or plays with Mr. Pickle or watches a movie. A most undemanding and frankly soothing companion. 

"We have a choice, we can take one of the buses lined up to take everyone over to the Grosvenor, we can fight for a taxi, or we can walk."

"Honestly, getting on a bus with a bunch of slightly sloshed celebs doesn't appeal."

"I have to agree." The champagne's been flowing freely since the ceremony ended, and as good of a night as it has been, Harry knows how the universe works; he and Eggsy will end up sitting next to a loud, obnoxious, and drunken Charlie Hesketh. "It's a nice night, and a walk would be lovely."

They manage to arrive just as the first buses are pulling up to the hotel. There's another red carpet to negotiate, with more photographers and reporters looking for just the right soundbite or quip. Harry finds one from the Guardian who's been kind to him in the past, and will hopefully treat Eggsy with respect.

"Moira, how are you?"

"Good, Harry. I saw you had a rather stellar night. The Fellowship award, plus wins for both nominations. I believe that's something of a record."

Harry shrugs, he knows it is. 

"Word has it that Emma Thompson's a little put out with you."

Harry is utterly taken aback. "Whyever for? What have I done to earn her anger?"

"Until tonight, she's the only person to have won both as a writer and as an actor."

Harry's not sure that's correct and looks to Eggsy, who naturally has the facts immediately at hand. "Dame Emma's won an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for _Sense and Sensibility_ and Best Actress in _Howard's End_. She only won the acting BAFTA for _Sense and Sensibility_. She's got no reason to be upset with Harry tonight. She might have a legitimate beef after the Oscars in a couple of weeks, though."

Harry steps in, not wanting this interview to get off on the wrong foot. "My partner, Eggsy Unwin. His knowledge of theatre and movie awards history is encyclopedic."

Eggsy looks at Harry and smiles, his grin broadening as he turns to Moira. "Barbaric, I know. But it's fun for party games and making my guy here blush when I recite his awards and professional statistics."

Moria takes the correction in good grace. "And for embarrassing the reporters who looking to do bit of unnecessary shit-stirring. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I'd missed you at the RADA gala a few weeks ago and it seems that Harry's been keeping you to himself since."

"We've been out, but tonight's the first red carpet event since then. And you can ask away."

Harry admires Eggsy's easy professionalism as he answers Moira's questions. They pose for photos and make it downstairs to the ballroom before the staircase becomes a fire marshal's nightmare. 

Dinner is a nightmare of photo ops and air kisses and mediocre food, but Harry can see that Eggsy is enjoying ever minute of it. He's a study in contrasts, as wide-eyed and excited as a child at a fun fair seeing his idols up close and personal, but smooth and confident as a seasoned veteran when they come over and talk with him.

Even Merlin notices when he stops at their table. He leans over and whispers into Harry's year, "You have to admit I'm a genius. The lad's absolutely brilliant."

"Eggsy _is_ brilliant and you don't need your ego stoked."

Merlin laughs, glad-hands his way around the table, stopping to whisper something in Eggsy's ear. Eggsy blushes and glances over at Harry, his cheeks pink and his eyes sparkling. Merlin says something else and Eggsy laughs, shaking his head. For a heartbeat, Harry is blazingly angry as he wonders if Merlin's reminding Eggsy that this is all supposed to be pretense. But then Eggsy's smile softens and he winks at Harry, inviting him to share in the moment, in whatever joke Merlin had made. Harry smiles back, but then lets his attention be drawn away by an old acquaintance.

At one point, after Eggsy excuses himself, Cyrus Leyden, a casting director that Harry had worked with on _Salamander_ , comes over to congratulate him. He also has something to say about Eggsy. "A couple of weeks ago, your boyfriend was sent to audition for me. I'd heard of his work at RADA and even had seen a few performances and had been impressed with his talent. I'd gone so far as to contact the school to find out who's representing him - I though he'd be a good fit for my new production. They'd pointed me towards Chester King at King & Co., who had some very negative opinions about Eggsy, that he's a prima donna and a bad apple who starts fights with everyone, that he'll do nothing but bring the tenor of the performance down , that he's box office poison. I didn't want to believe it, but I thought that if the boy's agent had such terrible things to say about him, then they must be true. And yet you - who doesn't put up with bullshit like that from anyone - name checks him in an awards speech and tells the press he's your partner, makes me seriously question King's words."

"Chester has a bit of a problem with actors like Eggsy. And like me, if you know what I mean."

The director nods, seeing the light. "That would explain it. Please give Eggsy my apologies. I'd been rather brutal to him at the audition, I wouldn't even let him read."

"Your production will be poorer for that mistake." Harry doesn't pull his punches.

"I know."

Eggsy returns to the table just as the man leaves and asks, "What's that about?"

"I'll tell you later."

By the time coffee and dessert are served, Harry is completely done for the night and finds the idea of going to another party unbearable. He's spent a lifetime schmoozing with backers and producers and directors and every kind of industry big-wig, but this type en masse self-congratulatory revelry has never been his thing.

Eggsy leans against him, resting his head on Harry's lapel. Harry delicately cards his fingers through Eggsy's hair. "Tired?"

"Was going to ask you that. You look like you've had it."

Harry nods. "It's been a long day."

"Wanna blow this joint?"

"That sounds like the best offer I've had all night." 

Getting out of the Grosvenor is a bit of a trial, as they're stopped a dozen times on the way to the exit, with people asking for an introduction to Eggsy. At one point, Harry sees Chester King glowering and he steers Eggsy over to his now former agent. When Eggsy looks at Harry with a touch of worry, Harry whispers, "You need to clear the air and make nice in public, defang Chester so won't be able to raise a fuss because you've found other representation."

Harry can feel Eggsy radiating tension as Chester makes the first move and comes over. "Gary, it's good to see you. Although I'm a bit surprised to find you here, of all places."

At first, Eggsy ignores Chester and looks up at Harry with adoring eyes, but his eyes go flat as he turns his attention to the old man. "Life's full of surprises. But you know I don't go by that name. I'm professionally registered as 'Eggsy Unwin'."

"Ah, well, Perhaps that's one of the reasons why you can't get casting directors to take you seriously. Serious theatre directors don't want their cast to sound like they've just stepped out of Teletubbies." Chester pronounces with a kind of avuncular concern, but then his expression get sour. "I've heard that you're being represented by Merlin MacLeish now, personally. That's a bit unusual for such a young and untested actor."

"He believes in me, sees a lot of potential."

"Of course, with your … ah … education, there would be a lot of 'potential'. But the trick is being able to realize it. Has he gotten you any work yet? Surely some commercials? Maybe some promotional videos for local businesses?"

Harry wants to punch Chester square in his smug, slimy face. Instead, he drops the bomb he's been saving for a few weeks now. "Haven't you heard, Chester? I'm staging a revival of _Young Queers with Old Faces_ at the Donmar Warehouse next fall; it'll be a two-month run. Eggsy will be playing Galahad. Merlin's working on a similar limited run at Lincoln Center in New York." Harry squeezes Eggsy's hand, hoping he'll follow the improvised script. Eggsy does, showing no surprise at the news.

Chester's smile turns positively bitter. "I hadn't heard."

"Yes, well, we've just wrapped up the negotiations and Donmar hasn't released their schedule yet. I understand that you're not really a fan of the play."

Chester must realize that insulting Harry would be bad for business and prevaricates. "It's a fine piece of work." 

Eggsy, to Harry's delight, doesn't let Chester get away with his lies. "And yet you called it melodramatic and unrealistic when I performed it for my final project at RADA."

"Perhaps I was referring to your rather mediocre performance?" Chester looks smug, believing he's clearly won the encounter.

"Hmm, well, you did say, 'even when it was first staged'. You also made a comment about how no one wants to see a play about dying fags anymore."

Chester's pretend outrage is barely convincing. "You must be mistaken."

"Nah, don't think so, Chester. The Q&A after my performance had been recorded and I've watched it more than a few times. Be happy to send you a copy, though. So you can refresh your memory."

The smug look disappears from Chester's face, replaced with barely contained fury. "You dirty little fucking prick - "

"Now, now, Chester. That ain't the way to talk. You never know who's listening." Eggsy smiles and looks like the picture of perfect innocence. Chester stalks off like a movie villain and Eggsy laughs.

Harry's almost unbearably aroused by Eggsy's mastery of the moment and steers Eggsy out of the Great Room and upstairs. They collect their coats and head outside; the chilly January air helps Harry get control of his libido. Harry doesn't need to ask if Eggsy wants to get a cab; by mutual and unspoken agreement they start walking towards Hyde Park, and home. The paparazzi are hanging around the entrance and for a few blocks along Park Lane. Harry and Eggsy take a moment to smile and pose, their willingness to be photographed for the glossies defangs the more vicious and persistent of the pack, and they depart without incident.

It's still early enough that the gates to Hyde Park are still open and Harry tucks Eggsy's hand into his as they walk along the well-lit path.

"You were magnificent tonight."

Eggsy gives him a small hip-check. "Ah, you're sweet."

"I'm serious, Eggsy. Every one you met was impressed with you. Even some of the directors who Chester had defamed you to came up to me and apologized. That's what Cyrus was saying to me when you had left the table, he told me that he couldn't reconcile what he'd seen of your work as a student and what your own agent had told him. He'd felt he had no choice but to believe Chester. That's why he'd been such a shit to you."

"Ah, well. That's good to know."

"It's a nice feeling to be vindicated, isn't it?"

Eggsy doesn't say anything, just squeezes his hand. They walk for a bit and Eggsy finally asks, "Is it true, what you told the old fartbag about _Young Queers_ and the Donmar Warehouse?"

Harry can't stop a bubble of laughter, _old fartbag, indeed_. "Absolutely. Can't afford to lie about something so easily disproved. And yes, Merlin is working on a production at Lincoln Center. It's all very exciting."

" _Young Queers_ never got staged on Broadway, did it?"

"Technically, yes it did. It was staged at the Public Theatre in lower Manhattan, which meets the criteria for 'Broadway', since it's large enough, but it doesn't have the same cachet as a theatre in the District. It's very much like the Donmar in style and mission. But Lincoln Center will be a very prestigious venue."

"If I tell you I'm terrified, will you think I'm crazy?"

"No, I'd think you're wise. This is a big deal and I'm not so sure I'm not terrified, either. If the production goes well, we might make a movie." 

"You don't sound too thrilled about that."

Harry's a bit surprised at how easily Eggsy can read him. "I have mixed feelings about it. This was my first major play, and so much about it is deeply personal. I don't know if I could bear to see it fixed so permanently, so publicly."

"Not like making an archive video."

"No, not at all." 

"And won't it hurt seeing it performed again?"

Harry lets go of Eggsy and sticks his hands in his coat pockets. "It will. But it's all part of living."

They keep walking, though separately now and it feels as if the air temperature has dropped by ten degrees.

"Can I ask you a question, Harry?"

"Certainly, my dear boy."

"Was _Young Queers_ about you and someone you loved?"

Harry sighs, his warm breath a puff of steam in the night air. "It's autobiographical, in a way. I didn't - I don't have AIDS."

"Your lover did?"

"One of them, yes." Harry doesn't elaborate. He's lost so many friends to the plague.

Eggsy tucks his arm through Harry's and lets the conversation drop.

But Harry finds that he can't let it go, as much as he wants to. "He wanted me to help him die. But I couldn't. I tried, but I couldn't do it." Harry shudders, fighting against the memories, the tears. The pain. "He begged, but I couldn't do it. Even though I would have wanted someone to do it for me, I couldn't take that last step."

They stop under a lamp and Eggsy hugs him. Harry clings, pressing his cheek into Eggsy's hair. He's surprised to feel dampness, it seems that the tears he's been fighting against have won the battle. "I've never told anyone this. I'm sure people have assumed things, that's the way of the world, but it's not a question anyone's ever asked. Not even Merlin. I think he's always been afraid of the answer. And he has his own nightmares about that time."

Harry lets go of Eggsy, but doesn't let him go far. "I might be making a big mistake, but I have to ask you something."

"Anything, Harry." Eggsy's a warm, comforting pressure against him.

"I - " Harry shakes his head and swallows, feeling strangely inarticulate.

Eggsy just looks at him, eyes glowing under the street lamp. There's so much trust there, and something else that gives Harry hope and the will to find the words.

"I know this started out as a way for me to save face, to prop up my ego and keep me from looking like an old fool, but it's gone far beyond that for me. I - " Harry pauses again, he has the right words but he's so damn afraid.

"Yes, Harry." Eggsy touches his cheek. "It's been real for me, too."

"Oh, thank god." Harry whispers, a prayer already answered. "I kept wishing and wanting and being so desperately afraid you'd laugh and tell me to stop being such an idiot."

"It's been real for me since the beginning. Since I kissed you after that first dinner. I didn't think you wanted anything more that someone to make you look good and I've been so afraid I'd ruin it if you ever found how how I felt. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Harry. Not because you're the fucking guv and all that shit - " Eggsy snorts and laughs at himself. "Glad I ain't the playwright. You're so damn perfect. You're kind and beautiful and smart. You're funny and brilliant and everything you say fascinates me."

Harry feels himself blushing at Eggsy's artless, but so clearly heartfelt compliments. "It doesn't bother you that I'm twice your age?"

Of course Eggsy has the perfect answer to that, "Does it bother you that I'm half yours?"

"Not in the least."

"I like that you're older than me." Eggsy bites his lip and gives Harry an up from under look. "But not in a daddy kind of way."

"Good, because I'm not really 'daddy' material."

"I know, and I don't want a daddy. Never did. It's just that guys my own age are really kind of out for themselves, especially in this business. If you're not competition or getting roles, that you're nothing. And if you're not in the business, then it's hard to find common ground. A guy with a professional degree ain't going to be all that understanding about someone who might not work for months on end, or who has to travel or work odd hours."

Harry's not so sure about that, believing that someone who has the good fortune to have Eggsy in their life should damn well be willing to accommodate his professional requirements.

Eggsy is oblivious to Harry's thoughts. "Someone older, someone established - someone who knows what it's like in this profession - that's what I've always wanted in a partner."

"In a lover?" 

Eggsy nods. "And what do you want in a lover, Harry?"

"An equal."

"Then I'm gonna disappoint you, because I ain't your equal. Never will be." Eggsy sounds resigned, a little sad.

"You already are, my darling. You're my equal in the only way that counts."

"Harry?"

"You're my emotional equal, Eggsy Unwin. As corny as it sounds, you complete me. You fill an emptiness in me that was so vast I couldn't even recognize it. I wasn't lying earlier tonight when I said you make me want to be better than my former self."

Eggsy whispers, "Harry". 

"Is it too much? Am I burdening you with feelings you don't want?"

"No, just you say shit like that, like you're reading my brain."

"And yet, I often feel like you're reading mine." Harry holds out his hand to Eggsy, who takes it, his palm warm and comforting in the chilly winter night. It's such a strange emotion, to be fifty-two years old and feeling that his life is beginning all over again. Harry doesn't say that to Eggsy, he's still trying to understand it himself. "Shall we go home?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	8. Chapter 8

Eggsy doesn't say much on the walk back to Stanhope Mews. It's not so late that the streets of Kensington are deserted, but it's quiet and lovely and everything that Eggsy adores about this part of London. Quiet nights had always been something to fear in the Estates, it had been a harbinger of danger - a sign that terrible things were about to happen. For years after moving out, Eggsy had hated the quiet, but he's become used to it. Walking hand and hand with Harry, he finds he loves it.

Mr. Pickle greets them with a few excited yips, uncaring of the neighbors' rest. Harry hushes him and murmurs to Eggsy that he should take the dog for a short walk to let him get rid of the excess energy after being inside for so many hours.

"I'll run a bath for you, all right?"

"A bath?" Harry's snapping the leash onto Pickle's collar and looks up at him.

"Yeah, you said you like a bath, some cuddles and then bed after an evening like this."

"I did, and yes - a bath out be lovely."

Eggsy makes a detour into the guest room and takes off his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, carefully hanging them over the valet that Harry had provided. He hasn't spent the night here at Stanhope Mews, yet, but when they've gone to parties and galas and fancy dinners, Eggsy's come here first, with his suit in a garment bag. He's a grown man and knows how to dress himself, even down to the intricacies of a bow tie, but Harry always has pointers on grooming that Eggsy likes to learn from. And more than grooming tips, it's the time spent with Harry that does wonders for his confidence. 

The shoes are off next, and Eggsy thinks for a moment before taking off his shirt. It's fancier than a normal button-down, and he doesn't want to have to deal with studs and cufflinks if this evening is going to go the way he hopes it will. The bits of metal and enamel go in a cup on the dresser, but Eggsy lets the braces dangle around his hips as he goes to Harry's room and the en suite.

This might just be the poshest bath Eggsy's ever seen or hopes to see. The tub is big enough for two full-grown Harry-sized men, the separate shower has an overhead spray the size of a serving platter and a dozen wall-mounted body sprays, there are heated towel bars and under his stocking feet, Eggsy can feel warmth from the tiles. It's all gorgeous marble and bigger than the bedroom Eggsy had grown up in. Once upon a time, Eggsy might have felt the sour twinge of envy, but he doesn't now. Harry's earned this luxury.

Eggsy turns on the taps in the bath and investigates the beautiful array of bottles on the shelf. He's not surprised to find one that a bubble bath and tips a measured portion into the water. The room fills with the aroma of lavender and something that reminds him of tea. It's a scent that's quintessentially _Harry_ and Eggsy loves it.

Eggsy turns off the taps and hears Harry in the bedroom. He's a bit startled when Harry pokes his head into the bath and tells Eggsy he'll be a minute. That minute feels like an hour as Eggsy listens to Harry puttering around the bedroom, getting undressed, putting his tuxedo away. The tension is becoming unbearable and Eggsy thinks that maybe instead of a bath now, he should just go jump Harry's bones and have the bath afterwards.

Then Harry appears in the doorway, wrapped like a Christmas present in a dark red robe, looking almost shy. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking care of me."

"Ain't done anything more than turn on a tap." Eggsy doesn't fully understand Harry's gratitude.

"It's more than that. It's agreeing to call it a night so early, about realizing that I'd rather be home than out celebrating. It's about turning on the tap, too." Harry sighs, "Haven't had too many partners who are that considerate."

"Well, I know you've dated at least one arsehole, but is your track record that bad?"

"Bad enough." Harry sighs. "I don't think tonight's the time for a tell-all on my failed romantic history."

"Don't want a buzz-killer?"

"Not in the least." Harry fiddles with the belt of his robe. "Though if you don't close your eyes, the sight of my pasty white body might have the same effect."

Eggsy gets up and goes over to Harry, they're standing toe to toe, and as Eggsy leans up to kiss Harry, he takes hold of the belt and gives it a gentle tug. "Let me see you."

Harry steps back and lets the robe slide off his shoulders and drop to the floor. He throws his shoulders back and lifts his chin, daring Eggsy to comment.

"God, you're fucking gorgeous." Eggsy blurts out the words, he can't control himself. "You're like some fucking Roman statue of a fucking Caesar. Holy fucking Jesus, you're beautiful."

"That's a copious bit of fucking, Eggsy."

Eggsy realizes what he's just said and laughs at himself. "I ain't a wordsmith, Harry. You are. But I'll give you Byron if you want, _He walks in beauty, like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies_ \- "

"Oh, stop, please." Harry laughs, a flush of embarrassed delight rising across his neck and cheeks. 

"What? Can't I tell you that you're beautiful?"

"I think I prefer 'fucking gorgeous' more than Byron's overwrought stanzas." Harry tests the water before getting into the tub. "You joining me?"

"I didn't wanna presume."

"Presume away, darling."

Eggsy stands there for a moment, watching Harry watch him.

"I wouldn't mind a show, if you're so inclined."

"I live to please." Eggsy tugs his vest free of his trousers and makes a bit of an effort as he pulls it over his head, using what he'd learned in movement classes to make the simple act more enticing. When he drops his trousers and bends over to pick them up and fold them, Harry's groan echoes through the tiled room.

"Talk about fucking gorgeous…"

Eggsy doesn't linger when he strips off his shorts and socks. "How do you want me?"

Harry answers with a surprisingly hackneyed, "Any way I can get you."

Eggsy can't forget what Harry had told him that first night and wants to give him every option. "Do you want to be the big or the little spoon? I could wash your back - there's plenty of room."

"I hate to tell you, but bathtub sex is highly overrated and rather annoying when you have to interrupt the afterglow to mop up."

Eggsy lets out a burst of laughter. "Washing your back wasn't a euphemism for fucking."

"My apologies. And I honestly wouldn't mind holding you."

The water is warm and luscious against Eggsy's skin as he climbs into the tub. There's a bit of sloshing as he gets himself situated against Harry, back to front, but soon enough they's together like a pair of spoons, with Harry's arms encircling his waist. "'Tis nice."

"Very." Harry's breath is oddly cool against Eggsy's shoulder and he shivers. Eggsy shivers again when Harry's lips ghost against his skin. "You are rather delicious."

"Thanks." Eggsy brings Harry's hand to his lips and nibbles delicately on his thumb. "You are, too."

As they relax together in the warm, scented water, Eggsy thinks that this is the most intimate he's ever been with anyone. And maybe that's something he needs to tell Harry, though it might well ruin the moment.

"I can hear you thinking." Harry murmurs. "You've gotten tense, what's wrong?"

Eggsy sighs, he guesses he should come clean. "I'm - well - I'm not the most experienced of guys. I mean, I'm not like a virgin or anything - just, well …" Eggsy trails off, trying not to die of embarrassment. 

Harry, the bastard, laughs. "It's all right, Eggsy. I'll be more than happy to guide you through the process."

Eggsy can feel, despite the enervating nature of the heated bath, Harry's thickening cock against his ass. "You're getting off on doing just that."

"Well, I believe I did tell you that I'm rather bossy."

Eggsy has to laugh. "Yeah, you did." He thinks for a moment, realizing that while they are both wet and naked and extremely vulnerable, this might be the real beginning of their relationship. "So, what _do_ you like, other than being fucked?"

Harry takes a moment before answering. "I like being cared for."

Eggsy knows he can do that, but some specifics would help. "Like, how?"

Harry hums a bit, kissing Eggsy under his ear and sending another shiver through him, but he doesn't answer. 

"Harry?"

Finally, Harry sighs. "You'll laugh."

"I won't, swear down." When Harry still doesn't answer, Eggsy starts to worry and he presses for an answer. "Whatever you want, it'll be fine." Then Eggsy realizes just what that blanket promise _might_ encompass.

His fears are for nothing. Harry says quietly, "I like to be treated like something precious. Which isn't to say I don't like to get fucked hard, but - " Harry's at an unusual loss for words.

"You like praise?"

"Yes, very much so."

"You like to be told just how beautiful you are?"

"Yes."

"How brilliant? How perfect? How you're everything I could ever want and never dreamed I could have?" Harry's cock is hard and hot between his ass and Eggsy rocks back, sending little wavelet through the tub.

"Oh, yes."

Eggsy stands and the water sloshes over the edge; he gets out of the tub and hold out his hand to Harry. "Then let me make love to you."

Harry rises out of the tub like a god of the sea and that's just what Eggsy tells him. Harry blushes at the praise, his eyes glow like really good scotch.

Eggsy pulls a towel from the rack, it's warm and soft as velvet, and he uses it to dry Harry, wiping the moisture those broad, strong shoulders, the defined pectorals, and Eggsy takes a moment to press soft kisses along Harry's collarbone, to sip the water clinging to the cup of skin and muscle at the base of his throat. Harry lets out a soft moan when Eggsy drops to his knees and brushes the water from his belly and hips, rubbing gently between his ass, down those endlessly long legs. 

Harry's cock is gorgeous, ruddy bright and hard, and like most men his age, he's cut. Eggsy looks forward to demonstrating just how good he is at blowing Harry's mind when he blows Harry's cock, but that's for later. Now he's focusing on teasing Harry, making him give up all those lovely, achy sounds.

Finally, he's wiped the last of the bathwater from Harry and he's gotten himself mostly dry. "Time for the bedroom?"

"Oh, yes. Please."

Eggsy loves how Harry says that word, all breathy and delighted. He's looking forward to making Harry say it while begging for cock, for Eggsy's cock.

The bedcovers are turned down, the night table lamp casting a warm glow in another dark room, the light glinting off of a couple of condom packets and a bottle of lube.

"You're a regular Boy Scout, aren't you, Harry?"

"I might still have my merit badge for preparation somewhere."

"You can find it and show it to me another time. Tonight, I want to fuck your beautiful body." 

Harry moans and Eggsy feels, _so far, so good_. He hopes the rest of his sex talk doesn't make them dissolve into uncontrollable giggles.

He leads Harry to the bed and Harry lies down, pulling Eggsy so Eggsy is crouching over him. "Hey there."

Harry smiles up at him. "Hey, yourself."

Eggsy can't help himself, he kisses Harry. It's a thing of tongues and teeth and luxurious sensation. He feels Harry's fingers curl into his hair, crinkling through the styling gel that somehow survived the bath. The tiny scrape of fingernails against his scalp send sensations rippling through him and he feels like a cat being stroked. Eggsy moans into Harry's mouth and Harry answers back, slinging one of those gorgeous legs over Eggsy's hip.

Eggsy pulls free and leans back. He wants to savor the moment, savor the sight of Harry spread out and aroused.

"Eggsy? Everything all right?"

"More than all right. Everything's perfect. You're perfect." Eggsy scrapes his own nails through the scant curls that adorn Harry's chest, tracing a finger around a nipple before giving it a sharp pinch. When Harry hisses, Eggsy asks, "Is this something you like?"

"Yes, but it's something we can explore later. Tonight, I just want a good, hard fuck."

And that's what Eggsy gives him, taking a long time to prep Harry in accordance with Harry's very precise and demanding instructions. Eggsy's sweating like he's just run a marathon by the time he's rolled a condom on.

"Put one on me, too. Please. Don't want to have to deal with clean sheets or sleeping in a wet spot."

Eggsy praises Harry's practicality and does just that. He puts one of Harry's legs over his shoulder, and the other over his hip and slowly presses into Harry's tight hole. "You feel gorgeous, the best thing I've ever had."

Harry laughs breathlessly, "Thank you, darling. You're wonderful, too. Now, put your back into it. I want to feel you for days."

Eggsy doesn't last as long as he likes, but he's able to outlast Harry by a good few minutes, slamming into him hard enough to send the headboard shuddering against the wall. He comes hard enough that the edges of his vision go a bit dark and it takes the last of his control not to collapse over his lover.

Harry leans over and kisses him, soft and languorous, nuzzling at his cheek and neck like a needy house cat. "Thank you, darling."

"I was good?"

"The best."

"Nah, you're just being nice."

"No, you were. You are."

Harry gets out of bed with far too much vigor and heads to the bathroom. Caught up in the afterglow, Eggsy hears the tap go and off and feels more than sees Harry come back. Gentle fingers take care of the condom and then a warm flannel wipes away the sweat. Harry disappears again but he returns soon enough, pulling the covers over them as he gets back into bed.

"Do you like to cuddle?"

Eggsy answers by rolling over and resting his head on Harry's shoulder and wrapping an arm around Harry's waist. "Well, I guess you got everything you wanted, a bath, a cuddle, your own bed."

"I think I had said, a cuddle with Mr. Pickle." 

Eggsy rubs his cheek against Harry's shoulder, "Will I do instead?"

"You'll more than do, darling. I adore my dog, but you're in a class all by yourself."

As Eggsy drifts off to sleep, he thinks that he can't ever remember being this happy in his life.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry isn't so quick to turn out the light. He wants to watch Eggsy sleep and preserve this moment in his memory. There had been a time when he'd believed that he'd paid for his professional successes with the failures of his personal life, that the losses and betrayals were the just and fair price for the honors he'd been granted. Until tonight, he'd still believed that.

Eggsy, with his generous heart and his great soul and his too-seeing eyes, has proved Harry wrong. It might be too soon to call his feelings "love" but Harry can't think of anything else to call them. He knows what infatuation feels like, what need and loneliness and desperation are, too. This is none of those things. What he feels for Eggsy is a rightness that can't be named if it isn't _love_.

Harry doesn't delude himself that Eggsy feels the same way. And yet ... Eggsy's made it clear that he feels deeply for Harry, too. Maybe Eggsy does love him. 

And in the mean time, he's going to do everything he can to protect Eggsy. Chester King's going to be a problem and Charlie is going to do everything he can to make Harry's life a misery. But Harry isn't without resources or powerful friends and he's not afraid to do what he has to do to protect Eggsy and ensure that Eggsy has a chance to flourish and show the world his greatness.

"Harry?" Eggsy slurs, half-awake, half-asleep. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's wonderful, my dear." Harry reaches over and turns off the lamp. He rolls onto his side, spooning against Eggsy and thinks, _Yes, everything is just wonderful_.

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> A lot went into building this particular A/U - if you want to see where all the Easter Eggs are buried, you can find them at [this post on my Dreamwidth journal](https://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/843313.html).


End file.
